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LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 


BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

a 
THE  LIGHT  INVISIBLE 
BY  WHAT  AUTHORITY? 
THE  KING'S  ACHIEVEMENT 
THE  QUEEN'S  TRAGEDY 
RICHARD   RAYNAL,   SOLITARY 
THE  SENTIMENTALISTS 
A   MIRROR  OF  SHALOTT 

a 
A   BOOK  OF  THE  LOVE  OF  JESUS 


LORD  OF  THE 
WORT-D 

BY 
ROBERT  HUGH  BENSON 

NEW  YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  &  COMPANY 

1908 

Copyright,   1907 
By  Donn,   Mead  &  CojipanV 

Published  March,  1908 


Bebtcatton 

CLAVI    DOMUS    DAVID 


561343 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2010  with  funding  from 
Duke  University  Libraries 


http://www.archive.org/details/lordofworldOObens 


PREFACE 

I  AM  perfectly  aware  that  this  Is  a  terribly  sensational 
book,  and  open  to  innumerable  criticisms  on  that  account,  as 
well  as  on  many  others.  But  I  did  not  know  how  else  to 
express  the  principles  I  desired  (and  which  I  passionately 
believe  to  be  true)  except  by  producing  their  lines  to  a 
sensational  point.  I  have  tried,  however,  not  to  scream 
unduly  loud,  and  to  retain,  so  far  as  possible,  reverence  and 
consideration  for  the  opinions  of  other  people.  Whether  I 
have  succeeded  in  that  attempt  is  quite  another  matter. 

Robert  Hugh  Benson. 
Cambridge,  1907. 


5C1343 


CONTENTS 

FAOZ 

Prologue xi 

BOOK  I 
The  Advent 1 

BOOK  II 
The  Encounter 93 


BOOK  III 
The  Victory 261 


Persons  who  do  not  like  tiresome  pro- 
logues, need  not  read  this  one.  It  is 
essential  only  to  the  situation,  not  to 
the  story. 


PROLOGUE 

"You  must  give  me  a  moment,"  said  the  old  man,  leaning 
back. 

Percy  resettled  himself  in  his  chair  and  waited,  chin  on 
hand. 

It  was  a  very  silent  room  in  which  the  three  men  sat,  fur- 
nished with  the  extreme  common  sense  of  the  period.  It 
had  neither  window  nor  door;  for  it  was  now  sixty  years 
since  the  world,  recognising  that  space  is  not  confined  to 
the  surface  of  the  globe,  had  begun  to  burrow  in  earnest. 
Old  Mr.  Templeton's  house  stood  some  forty  feet  below  the 
level  of  the  Thames  embankment,  in  what  was  considered  a 
somewhat  commodious  position,  for  he  had  only  a  hundred 
yards  to  walk  before  he  reached  the  station  of  the  Second 
Central  Motor-circle,  and  a  quarter  of  a  mile  to  the  volor- 
station  at  Blackfriars.  He  was  over  ninety  years  old, 
however,  and  seldom  left  his  house  now.  The  room  itself 
was  lined  throughout  with  the  delicate  green  jade-enamel 
prescribed  by  the  Board  of  Health,  and  was  suffused  with 
the  artificial  sunlight  discovered  by  the  great  Renter  forty 
years  before ;  it  had  the  colour-tone  of  a  spring  wood,  and 
was  warmed  and  ventilated  through  the  classical  frieze 
grating  to  the  exact  temperature  of  18°  Centigrade. 
Mr.  Templeton  was  a  plain  man,  content  to  live  as  his 
father  had  lived  before  him.     The  furniture,  too,  was  a 


xil  THE  PROLOGUE 

little  old-fashioned  In  make  and  design,  constructed  how- 
ever according  to  the  prevailing  system  of  soft  asbestos 
enamel  welded  over  iron,  indestructible,  pleasant  to  the 
touch,  and  resembling  mahogany.  A  couple  of  book-cases 
well  filled  ran  on  either  side  of  the  bronze  pedestal  electric 
fire  before  which  sat  the  three  men ;  and  in  the  further 
corners  stood  the  hydraulic  lifts  that  gave  entrance,  the 
one  to  the  bedroom,  the  other  to  the  corridor  fifty  feet  up 
which  opened  on  to  the  Embankment. 

Father  Percy  Franklin,  the  elder  of  the  two  priests,  was 
rather  a  remarkable-looking  man,  not  more  than  thirty-five 
years  old,  but  with  hair  that  was  white  throughout ;  his 
grey  eyes,  under  black  eyebrows,  were  peculiarly  bright 
and  almost  passionate ;  but  his  prominent  nose  and  chin 
and  the  extreme  decisiveness  of  his  mouth  reassured  the 
observer  as  to  his  will.  Strangers  usually  looked  twice  at 
him. 

Father  Francis,  however,  sitting  in  his  upright  chair  on 
the  other  side  of  the  hearth,  brought  down  the  average; 
for,  though  his  brown  eyes  were  pleasant  and  pathetic,  there 
was  no  strength  in  his  face;  there  was  even  a  tendency  to 
feminine  melancholy  in  the  corners  of  his  mouth  and  the 
marked  droop  of  his  eyelids. 

Mr.  Templeton  was  just  a  very  old  man,  with  a  strong 
face  in  folds,  clean-shaven  like  the  rest  of  the  world,  and 
was  now  lying  back  on  his  water-pillows  with  the  quilt  over 
his  feet. 

At  last  he  spoke,  glancing  first  at  Percy,  on  his  left. 
"Well,"   he   said,    "it    is    a   great   business    to    remember 
exactly;  but  this  is  how  I  put  it  to  myself." 


THE  PROLOGUE  xiii 

"In  England  our  party  was  first  seriously  alarmed  at  the 
Labour  Parliament  of  1917.  That  showed  us  how  deeply 
Herveism  had  impregnated  the  whole  social  atmosphere. 
There  had  been  Socialists  before,  but  none  like  Gustave 
Herve  in  his  old  age — at  least  no  one  of  the  same  power. 
He,  perhaps  you  have  read,  taught  absolute  Materialism 
and  Socialism  developed  to  their  logical  issues.  Patriotism, 
he  said,  was  a  relic  of  barbarism;  and  sensual  enjoyment 
was  the  only  certain  good.  Of  course,  every  one  laughed 
at  him.  It  was  said  that  without  religion  there  could  be 
no  adequate  motive  among  the  masses  for  even  the  simplest 
social  order.  But  he  was  right,  it  seemed.  After  the  fall 
of  the  French  Church  at  the  beginning  of  the  century  and 
the  massacres  of  1914,  the  bourgeoisie  settled  down  to  or- 
ganise itself;  and  that  extraordinary  movement  began  in 
earnest,  pushed  through  by  the  middle  classes,  with  no 
patriotism,  no  class  distinctions,  practically  no  army.  Of 
course.  Freemasonry  directed  it  all.  This  spread  to  Ger- 
many, where  the  influence  of  Karl  Marx  had  already " 

"Yes,  sir,"  put  in  Percy  smoothly,  "but  what  of  Eng- 
land, if  you  don't  mind " 

"Ah,  yes;  England.  Well,  in  1917  the  Labour  party 
gathered  up  the  reins,  and  Communism  really  began. 
That  was  long  before  I  can  remember,  of  course,  but  my 
father  used  to  date  it  from  then.  The  only  wonder  was 
that  things  did  not  go  forward  more  quickly ;  but  I  sup- 
pose there  was  a  good  deal  of  Tory  leaven  left.  Besides, 
centuries  generally'  run  slower  than  is  expected,  especially 
after  beginning  with  an  impulse.  But  the  new  order  began 
then ;  and  the  Communists  have  never  suff'ered  a  serious 
reverse  since,  except  the  little  one  in  '25.    Blenkin  founded 


xiv  THE  PROLOGUE 

*The  New  People'  then ;  and  the  'Times'  dropped  out ;  but 
it  was  not,  strangely  enough,  till  '35  that  the  House  of 
Lords  fell  for  the  last  time.  The  Established  Church  had 
gone  finally  in  '29." 

"And  the  religious  effect  of  that?"  asked  Percy  swiftly, 
as  the  old  man  paused  to  cough  slightly,  lifting  his  in- 
haler.    The  priest  was  anxious  to  keep  to  the  point. 

"It  was  an  effect  itself,"  said  the  other,  "rather  than  a 
cause.  You  see,  the  Ritualists,  as  they  used  to  call  them, 
after  a  desperate  attempt  to  get  into  the  Labour  swim, 
came  into  the  Church  after  the  Convocation  of  '19,  when 
the  Nicene  Creed  dropped  out ;  and  there  was  no  real  enthu- 
siasm except  among  them.  But  so  far  as  there  was  an 
effect  from  the  final  Disestablishment,  I  think  it  was  that 
what  was  left  of  the  State  Church  melted  into  the  Free 
Church,  and  the  Free  Church  was,  after  all,  nothing  more 
than  a  little  sentiment.  The  Bible  was  completely  given 
up  as  an  authority  after  the  renewed  German  attacks  in 
the  twenties ;  and  the  Divinity  of  our  Lord,  some  think, 
had  gone  all  but  in  name  by  the  beginning  of  the  century. 
The  Kenotic  theory  had  provided  for  that.  Then  there 
was  that  strange  little  movement  among  the  Free  Church- 
men even  earlier;  when  ministers  who  did  no  more  than 
follow  the  swim — who  were  sensitive  to  draughts,  so  to 
speak — broke  off  from  their  old  positions.  It  is  curious 
to  read  in  the  history  of  the  time  how  they  were  hailed  as 
independent  thinkers.  It  was  just  exactly  what  they  were 
not.  .  .  .  Where  was  I?  Oh,  yes.  .  .  .  Well,  that  cleared 
the  ground  for  us,  and  the  Church  made  extraordinary 
progress  for  a  while — extraordinary,  that  is,  under  the 
circumstances,  because   you   must   remember,  things  were 


THE  PROLOGUE  xv 

very  different  from  twenty,  or  even  ten,  years  before.  I 
mean  that,  roughly  speaking,  the  severing  of  the  sheep  and 
the  goats  had  begun.  The  religious  people  were  practi- 
cally all  Catholics  and  Individualists ;  the  irreligious  people 
rejected  the  supernatural  altogether,  and  were,  to  a  man, 
INIaterialists  and  Communists.  But  we  made  progress  be- 
cause we  had  a  few  exceptional  men — Delaney  the  philos- 
opher, IMcArthur  and  Largent,  the  philanthropists,  and 
so  on.  It  really  seemed  as  if  Delaney  and  his  disciples 
might  carry  everything  before  them.  You  remember  his 
'Analogy'.?     Oh,  yes,  it  is  all  in  the  text-books.   .    .    . 

"Well,  then,  at  the  close  of  the  Vatican  Council,  which  had 
been  called  in  the  nineteenth  century,  and  never  dissolved, 
we  lost  a  great  number  through  the  final  definitions.  The 
'Exodus  of  the  Intellectuals'  the  world  called  it " 

"The  Biblical  decisions,"  put  in  the  younger  priest. 

"That  partly;  and  the  whole  conflict  that  began  with 
the  rise  of  Modernism  at  the  beginning  of  the  century: 
but  much  more  the  condemnation  of  Delaney,  and  of  the 
New  Transcendentalism  generally,  as  it  was  then  under- 
stood. He  died  outside  the  Church,  you  know.  Then 
there  was  the  condemnation  of  Sciotti's  book  on  Compara- 
tive Religion.  .  .  .  After  that  the  Communists  went  on 
by  strides,  although  by  very  slow  ones.  It  seems  extraordi- 
nary to  you,  I  dare  say,  but  you  cannot  Imagine  the  excite- 
ment when  the  Necessary  Trades  Bill  became  law  in  '60. 
People  thought  that  all  enterprise  would  stop  when  so  many 
professions  were  nationalised;  but,  you  know.  It  didn't. 
Certainly  the  nation  was  behind  it," 

"What  year  was  the  Two-Thirds  Majority  Bill  passed?" 
asked  Percy. 


xvi  THE  PROLOGUE 

"Oh!  long  before — within  a  year  or  two  of  the  fall  of 
the  House  of  Lords.  It  was  necessary,  I  think,  or  the  Indi- 
vidualists would  have  gone  raving  mad.  .  .  .  Well,  the 
Necessary  Trades  Bill  was  inevitable :  people  had  begun  to 
see  that  even  so  far  back  as  the  time  when  the  railways 
were  municipalised.  For  a  while  there  was  a  burst  of  art ; 
because  all  the  Individualists  who  could  went  in  for  it  (it 
was  then  that  the  Toller  school  was  founded)  ;  but  they 
soon  drifted  back  into  Government  employment;  after  all, 
the  six-per-cent  limit  for  all  individual  enterprise  was  not 
much  of  a  temptation;  and  Government  paid  well." 

Percy  shook  his  head. 

"Yes ;  but  I  cannot  understand  the  present  state  of  af- 
fairs.    You  said  just  now  that  things  went  slowly.'"' 

"Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  "but  you  must  remember  the 
Poor  Laws.  That  established  the  Communists  for  ever. 
Certainly  Braithwaite  knew  his  business." 

The  younger  priest  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"The  abolition  of  the  old  workhouse  system,"  said  Mr. 
Templeton.  "It  is  aU  ancient  history  to  you,  of  course ; 
but  I  remember  as  if  it  was  yesterday.  It  was  that  which 
brought  down  what  was  still  called  the  Monarchy  and  the 
Universities." 

"Ah,"  said  Percy.  "I  should  like  to  hear  you  talk  about 
that,  sir." 

"Presently,  father.  .  .  .  Well,  this  is  what  Braithwaite 
did.  By  the  old  system  all  paupers  were  treated  alike,  and 
resented  it.  By  the  new  system  there  were  the  three  grades 
that  we  have  now,  and  the  enfranchisement  of  the  two 
higher  grades.  Only  the  absolutely  worthless  were  as- 
signed to  the  third  grade,  and  treated  more  or  less  as  crimi- 


THE  PROLOGUE  xvii 

nals — of  course  after  careful  examination.  Then  there 
was  the  reorganisation  of  the  Old  Age  Pensions.  Well, 
don't  you  see  how  strong  that  made  the  Communists.''  The 
Individualists — they  were  still  called  Tories  when  I  was  a 
boy — the  Individualists  have  had  no  chance  since.  They 
are  no  more  than  a  worn-out  drag  now.  The  whole  of  the 
working  classes — and  that  meant  ninety-nine  of  a  hundred 
— were  all  against  them." 

Percy  looked  up ;  but  the  other  went  on. 

"Then  there  was  the  Prison  Reform  Bill  under  Macpher- 
son,  and  the  abolition  of  capital  punishment ;  there  was 
the  final  Education  Act  of  '59,  whereby  dogmatic  secular- 
ism was  established;  the  practical  abolition  of  inheritance 
under  the  reformation  of  the  Death  Duties " 

**I  forget  what  the  old  system  was,"  said  Percy. 

"Why,  it  seems  incredible,  but  the  old  system  was  that 
all  paid  alike.  First  came  the  Heirloom  Act,  and  then  the 
change  by  which  inherited  wealth  paid  three  times  the  duty 
of  earned  wealth,  leading  up  to  the  acceptance  of  Karl 
Marx's  doctrines  in  '89 — but  the  former  came  in  '77.  .  .  . 
Well,  all  these  things  kept  England  up  to  the  level  of  the 
Continent;  she  had  only  been  just  in  time  to  join  in  with 
the  final  scheme  of  Western  Free  Trade.  That  was  the 
first  effect,  you  remember,  of  the  Socialists'  victory  in 
Germany." 

"And  how  did  we  keep  out  of  the  Eastern  War?"  asked 
Percy  anxiously. 

"Oh !  that's  a  long  story ;  but,  in  a  word,  America  stopped 
us ;  so  we  lost  India  and  Australia.  I  think  that  was  the 
nearest  to  the  downfall  of  the  Communists  since  '25.  But 
Braithwaite  got  out  of  it  very  cleverly  by  getting  us  the 


xviii  THE  PROLOGUE 

protectorate  of  South  Africa  once  and  for  all.  He  was  an 
old  man  then,  too." 

Mr.  Templeton  stopped  to  cough  again.  Father  Francis 
sighed  and  shifted  in  his  chair. 

"And  America?"  asked  Percy. 

"Ah!  all  that  is  very  complicated.  But  she  knew  her 
strength  and  annexed  Canada  the  same  year.  That  was 
when  we  were  at  our  weakest." 

Percy  stood  up. 

"Have  you  a  Comparative  Atlas,  sir?"  he  asked. 

The  old  man  pointed  to  a  shelf. 

"There,"  he  said. 

Percy  looked  at  the  sheets  a  minute  or  two  in  silence, 
spreading  them  on  his  knees. 

"It  is  all  much  simpler,  certainly,"  he  murmured,  glanc- 
ing first  at  the  old  complicated  colouring  of  the  beginning 
of  the  twentieth  century,  and  then  at  the  three  great  washes 
of  the  twenty-first. 

He  moved  his  finger  along  Asia.  The  words  Eastern 
Empire  ran  across  the  pale  yellow,  from  the  Ural  Moun- 
tains on  the  left  to  the  Behring  Straits  on  the  right,  curl- 
ing round  in  giant  letters  through  India,  Australia,  and 
New  Zealand.  He  glanced  at  the  red ;  it  was  considerably 
smaller,  but  still  important  enough,  considering  that  it  cov- 
ered not  only  Europe  proper,  but  all  Russia  up  to  the  Ural 
Mountains,  and  Africa  to  the  south.  The  blue-labelled 
American  Republic  swept  over  the  whole  of  that  con- 
tinent, and  disappeared  right  round  to  the  left  of  the  West- 
ern Hemisphere  in  a  shower  of  blue  sparks  on  the  white  sea. 

"Yes,  it's  simpler,"  said  the  old  man  drily. 


THE  PROLOGUE  xlx 

Percy  shut  the  book  and  set  It  by  his  chair. 

"And  what  next,  sir?    What  will  happen?" 

The  old  Tory  statesman  smiled. 

"God  knows,"  he  said.  "If  the  Eastern  Empire  chooses 
to  move,  we  can  do  nothing.  I  don't  know  why  they  have 
not  moved.    I  suppose  it  is  because  of  religious  differences." 

"Europe  will  not  split?"  asked  the  priest. 

"No,  no.  We  know  our  danger  now.  And  America  would 
certainly  help  us.  But,  all  the  same,  God  help  us — or  you, 
I  should  rather  say — if  the  Empire  does  move!  She 
knows  her  strength  at  last." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  or  two.  A  faint  vibration 
trembled  through  the  deep-sunk  room  as  some  huge  ma- 
chine went  past  on  the  broad  boulevard  overhead. 

"Prophesy,  sir,"  said  Percy  suddenly.  "I  mean  about  re- 
ligion." 

Mr.  Templeton  inhaled  another  long  breath  from  his  In- 
strument.    Then  again  he  took  up  his  discourse. 

"Briefly,"  he  said,  "there  are  three  forces — Catholicism, 
Humanitarianism,  and  the  Eastern  religions.  About  the 
third  I  cannot  prophesy,  though  I  think  the  Sufis  will  be 
victorious.  Anything  may  happen ;  Esotericism  is  making 
enormous  strides — and  that  means  Pantheism;  and  the 
blending  of  the  Chinese  and  Japanese  dynasties  throws  out 
all  our  calculations.  But  in  Europe  and  America,  there 
is  no  doubt  that  the  struggle  lies  between  the  other  two. 
We  can  neglect  everything  else.  And,  I  think,  If  you  wish 
me  to  say  what  I  think,  that,  humanly  speaking,  Catholi- 
cism will  decrease  rapidly  now.  It  is  perfectly  true  that 
Protestantism  is  dead.  Men  do  recognise  at  last  that  a 
supernatural  Religion  involves  an  absolute  authority,  and 


XX  THE  PROLOGUE 

that  Private  Judgment  in  matters  of  faith  is  nothing  else 
than  the  beginning  of  disintegration.  And  it  is  also  true 
that  since  the  Catholic  Church  is  the  only  institution  that 
even  claims  supernatural  authority,  with  all  its  merciless 
logic,  she  has  again  the  allegiance  of  practically  all  Chris- 
tians who  have  any  supernatural  belief  left.  There  are  a 
few  faddists  left,  especially  in  America  and  here ;  but  they 
are  negligible.  That  is  all  very  well ;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  you  must  remember  that  Humanitarianism,  contrary 
to  all  persons'  expectations,  is  becoming  an  actual  religion 
itself,  though  anti-supernatural.  It  is  Pantheism ;  it  is  de- 
veloping a  ritual  under  Freemasonry ;  it  has  a  creed,  'God  is 
Man,'  and  the  rest.  It  has  therefore  a  real  food  of  a  sort 
to  offer  to  religious  cravings ;  it  idealises,  and  yet  it  makes 
no  demand  upon  the  spiritual  faculties.  Then,  they  have 
the  use  of  all  the  churches  except  ours,  and  all  the  Cathe- 
drals ;  and  they  are  beginning  at  last  to  encourage  senti- 
ment. Then,  they  may  displa}'  their  symbols  and  we  may 
not :  I  think  that  they  will  be  established  legally  in  another 
ten  years  at  the  latest. 

"Now,  we  Catholics,  remember,  are  losing;  we  have  lost 
steadily  for  more  than  fifty  years.  I  suppose  that  we  have, 
nominally,  about  one-fortieth  of  America  now — and  that 
is  the  result  of  the  Catholic  movement  of  the  early  twenties. 
In  France  and  Spain  we  are  nowhere ;  in  Germany  we  are 
less.  We  hold  our  position  in  the  East,  certainly ;  but  even 
there  we  have  not  more  than  one  in  two  hundred — so  the 
statistics  say — and  we  are  scattered.  In  Italy.''  Well,  we 
have  Rome  again  to  ourselves,  but  nothing  else ;  here,  we 
have  Ireland  altogether  and  perhaps  one  in  sixty  of  Eng- 
land, Wales  and  Scotland ;  but  we  had  one  in  fortj'  seventy 


THE  PROLOGUE  xxl 

years  ago.  Then  there  is  the  enormous  progress  of 
psychology — all  clean  against  us  for  at  least  a  century. 
First,  you  see,  there  was  Materialism,  pure  and  simple — 
that  failed  more  or  less — it  was  too  crude — until  psychology 
came  to  the  rescue.  Now  psychology  claims  all  the  rest  of 
the  ground;  and  the  supernatural  sense  seems  accounted 
for.  That's  the  claim.  No,  father,  we  are  losing;  and 
we  shall  go  on  losing,  and  I  think  we  must  even  be  ready 
for  a  catastrophe  at  any  moment." 

"But "  began  Percy. 

"You  think  that  weak  for  an  old  man  on  the  edge  of 
the  grave.  Well,  it  is  what  I  think.  I  see  no  hope.  In 
fact,  it  seems  to  me  that  even  now  something  may  come  on 
us  quickly.    No  ;  I  see  no  hope  until " 

Percy  looked  up  sharply. 

"Until  our  Lord  comes  back,"   said   the  old  statesman. 

Father  Francis  sighed  once  more,  and  there  fell  a  silence. 

"And  the  fall  of  the  Universities.''"  said  Percy  at  last. 

"My  dear  father,  it  was  exactly  like  the  fall  of  the 
Monasteries  under  Henry  VIII — the  same  results,  the  same 
arguments,  the  same  incidents.  They  were  the  strongholds 
of  Individualism,  as  the  Monasteries  were  the  strongholds 
of  Papalism ;  and  they  were  regarded  with  the  same  kind 
of  awe  and  envy.  Then  the  usual  sort  of  remarks  began 
about  the  amount  of  port  wine  drunk ;  and  suddenly  people 
said  that  they  had  done  their  work,  that  the  inmates  were 
mistaking  means  for  ends ;  and  there  was  a  great  deal  more 
reason  for  saying  it.  After  all,  granted  the  supernatural. 
Religious  Houses  are  an  obvious  consequence ;  but  the  ob- 
ject of  secular  education  is  presumably  the  production  of 


xxii  THE  PROLOGUE 

something  visible — either  character  or  competence;  and  it 
became  quite  impossible  to  prove  that  the  Universities  pro- 
duced either — which  was  worth  having.  The  distinction 
between  ov  and  jw^  is  not  an  end  in  itself ;  and  the  kind 
of  person  produced  by  its  study  was  not  one  which  ap- 
pealed to  England  in  the  twentieth  century.  I  am  not  sure 
that  it  appealed  even  to  me  much  (and  I  was  always  a 
strong  Individualist) — except  by  way  of  pathos " 

"Yes.'"'  said  Percy. 

"Oh,  it  was  pathetic  enough.  The  Science  Schools  of 
Cambridge  and  the  Colonial  Department  of  Oxford  were 
the  last  hope;  and  then  those  went.  The  old  dons  crept 
about  with  their  books,  but  nobody  wanted  them — they  were 
too  purely  theoretical;  some  drifted  into  the  poorhouses, 
first  or  second  grade;  some  were  taken  care  of  by  chari- 
table clergymen ;  there  was  that  attempt  to  concentrate  in 
Dublin ;  but  it  failed,  and  people  soon  forgot  them.  The 
buildings,  as  you  know,  were  used  for  all  kinds  of  things. 
Oxford  became  an  engineering  establishment  for  a  while, 
and  Cambridge  a  kind  of  Government  laboratory.  I  was 
at  King's  College,  you  know.  Of  course  it  was  all  as  hor- 
rible as  it  could  be — though  I  am  glad  they  kept  the  chapel 
open  even  as  a  museum.  It  was  not  nice  to  see  the  chantries 
filled  with  anatomical  specimens.  However,  I  don't  think  it 
was  much  worse  than  keeping  stoves  and  surplices  in  them.'* 

"What  happened  to  you.'"' 

"Oh !  I  was  in  Parliament  very  soon ;  and  I  had  a  little 
money  of  my  own,  too.  But  it  was  very  hard  on  some  of 
them;  they  had  little  pensions,  at  least  all  who  were  past 
work.  And  yet,  I  don't  know :  I  suppose  it  had  to  come. 
They  were  very  little  more  than  picturesque  survivals,  you 


THE  PROLOGUE  xxiil 

know ;  and  had  not  even  the  grace  of  a  religious  faith  about 
them." 

Percy  sighed  again,  looking  at  the  humorously  reminis- 
cent face  of  the  old  man.  Then  he  suddenly  changed  the 
subject  again. 

"What  about  this  European  parliament.?"  he  said. 

The  old  man  started. 

"Oh!  ...  I  think  it  will  pass,"  he  said,  "if  a  man  can 
be  found  to  push  it.  All  this  last  century  has  been  leading 
up  to  it,  as  you  see.  Patriotism  has  been  dying  fast;  but 
it  ought  to  have  died,  like  slavery  and  so  forth,  under  the 
influence  of  the  Catholic  Church.  As  it  is,  the  work  has 
been  done  without  the  Church;  and  the  result  is  that  the 
world  is  beginning  to  range  itself  against  us:  it  is  an  or- 
ganised antagonism  —  a  kind  of  Catholic  anti-Church. 
Democracy  has  done  what  the  Divine  Monarchy  should 
have  done.  If  the  proposal  passes  I  think  we  may  expect 
something  like  persecution  once  more.  .  .  .  But,  again, 
the  Eastern  invasion  may  save  us,  if  it  comes  off.  .  .  . 
I  do  not  know.  ..." 

Percy  sat  still  yet  a  moment ;  then  he  stood  up  suddenly. 

"I  must  go,  sir,"  he  said,  relapsing  into  Esperanto.  "It 
is  past  nineteen  o'clock.  Thank  you  so  much.  Are  you 
coming,  father?" 

Father  Francis  stood  up  also,  in  the  dark  grey  suit  per- 
mitted to  priests,  and  took  up  his  hat. 

"Well,  father,"  said  the  old  man  again,  "come  again  some 
day,  if  I  haven't  been  too  discursive.  I  suppose  you  have 
to  write  your  letter  yet?" 

Percy  nodded. 

"I  did  half  of  it  this  morning,"  he  said,  "but  I  felt  I 


xxiv  THE  PROLOGUE 

wanted  another  bird's-eye  view  before  I  could  understand 
properly :  I  am  so  grateful  to  you  for  giving  it  me.  It  is 
really  a  great  labour,  this  daily  letter  to  the  Cardinal- 
Protector.     I  am  thinking  of  resigning  if  I  am  allowed." 

"My  dear  father,  don't  do  that.  If  I  may  say  so  to  your 
face,  I  think  you  have  a  very  shrewd  mind;  and  unless 
Rome  has  balanced  information  she  can  do  nothing.  I 
don't  suppose  your  colleagues  are  as  careful  as  yourself." 

Percy  smiled,  lifting  his  dark  eyebrows  deprecatingly. 

"Come,  father,"  he  said. 

The  two  priests  parted  at  the  steps  of  the  corridor,  and 
Percy  stood  for  a  minute  or  two  staring  out  at  the  familiar 
autumn  scene,  trying  to  understand  what  it  all  meant. 
What  he  had  heard  downstairs  seemed  strangely  to  illumi- 
nate that  vision  of  splendid  prosperity  that  lay  before  him. 

The  air  was  as  bright  as  day ;  artificial  sunlight  had  car- 
ried all  before  it,  and  London  now  knew  no  difference  be- 
tween dark  and  light.  He  stood  in  a  kind  of  glazed  clois- 
ter, heavily  floored  with  a  preparation  of  rubber  on  which 
footsteps  made  no  sound.  Beneath  him,  at  the  foot  of 
the  stairs,  poured  an  endless  double  line  of  persons  severed 
by  a  partition,  going  to  right  and  left,  noiselessly,  except 
for  the  murmur  of  Esperanto  talking  that  sounded  cease- 
lessly as  they  went.  Through  the  clear,  hardened  glass  of 
the  public  passage  showed  a  broad  sleek  black  roadway, 
ribbed  from  side  to  side,  and  puckered  in  the  centre,  signifi- 
cantly empty,  but  even  as  he  stood  there  a  note  sounded 
far  away  from  Old  Westminster,  like  the  hum  of  a  giant 
hive,  rising  as  it  came,  and  an  instant  later  a  transparent 
thing  shot  past,  flashing  from  every  angle,  and  the  note 
died  to  a  hum  again  and  a  silence  as  the  great  Government 


THE  PROLOGUE  xxv 

motor  from  the  south  whirled  eastwards  with  the  mails. 
This  was  a  privileged  roadway ;  nothing  but  state-vehicles 
were  allowed  to  use  it,  and  those  at  a  speed  not  exceeding 
one  hundred  miles  an  hour. 

Other  noises  were  subdued  in  this  city  of  rubber ;  the  pas- 
senger-circles were  a  hundred  yards  away,  and  the  subter- 
ranean traffic  lay  too  deep  for  anything  but  a  vibration 
to  make  itself  felt.  It  was  to  remove  this  vibration,  and 
silence  the  hum  of  the  ordinary  vehicles,  that  the  Govern- 
ment experts  had  been  working  for  the  last  twenty  years. 

Once  again  before  he  moved  there  came  a  long  cry  from 
overhead,  startlingly  beautiful  and  piercing,  and,  as  he 
lifted  his  eyes  from  the  glimpse  of  the  steady  river  which 
alone  had  refused  to  be  transformed,  he  saw  high  above 
him  against  the  heavy  illuminated  clouds,  a  long  slender 
object,  glowing  with  soft  light,  slide  northwards  and  vanish 
on  outstretched  wings.  That  musical  cry,  he  told  him- 
self, was  the  voice  of  one  of  the  European  line  of  volors  an- 
nouncing its  arrival  in  the  capital  of  Great  Britain. 

"Until  our  Lord  comes  back,"  he  thought  to  himself; 
and  for  an  instant  the  old  misery  stabbed  at  his  heart. 
How  difficult  it  was  to  hold  the  ej^es  focussed  on  that  far 
horizon  when  this  world  lay  in  the  foreground  so  compel- 
ling in  its  splendour  and  its  strength !  Oh,  he  had  argued 
with  Father  Francis  an  hour  ago  that  size  was  not  the 
same  as  greatness,  and  that  an  insistent  external  could  not 
exclude  a  subtle  internal ;  and  he  had  believed  what  he  had 
then  said ;  but  the  doubt  yet  remained  till  he  silenced  it  by  a 
fierce  effort,  crying  in  his  heart  to  the  Poor  Man  of  Naza- 
reth to  keep  his  heart  as  the  heart  of  a  little  child. 

Then  he  set  his  lips,  wondering  how  long  Father  Francis 
would  bear  the  pressure,  and  went  down  the  steps. 


BOOK   I— THE   ADVENT 


CHAPTER  I 


Oliver  Brand,  the  new  member  for  Croydon  (4),  sat  in  his 
study,  looking  out  of  the  window  over  the  top  of  his  type- 
writer. 

His  house  stood  facing  northwards  at  the  extreme  end  of 
a  spur  of  the  Surrey  Hills,  now  cut  and  tunnelled  out  of  all 
recognition ;  only  to  a  Communist  the  view  was  an  inspirit- 
ing one.  Immediately  below  the  wide  windows  the  embanked 
ground  fell  away  rapidly  for  perhaps  a  hundred  feet,  end- 
ing in  a  high  wall,  and  beyond  that  the  world  and  works  of 
men  were  triumphant  as  far  as  eye  could  see.  Two  vast 
tracks  like  streaked  race-courses,  each  not  less  than  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  in  width,  and  sunk  twenty  feet  below  the  sur- 
face of  the  ground,  swept  up  to  a  meeting  a  mile  ahead  at 
the  huge  junction.  Of  those,  that  on  his  left  was  the  First 
Trunk  road  to  Brighton,  inscribed  in  capital  letters  in  the 
Railroad  Guide,  that  to  the  right  the  Second  Trunk  to  the 
Tunbridge  and  Hastings  district.  Each  was  divided  length- 
ways by  a  cement  wall,  on  one  side  of  which,  on  steel  rails, 
ran  the  electric  trams,  and  on  the  other  lay  the  motor-track 
itself  again  divided  into  three,  on  which  ran,  first  the  Gov- 
ernment coaches  at  a  speed  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
an  hour,  second  the  private  motors  at  not  more  than  sixty, 
third  the  cheap  Government  line  at  thirty,  with  stations 


2  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

every  five  miles.  This  was  further  bordered  by  a  road  con- 
fined to  pedestrians,  cyclists  and  ordinary  cars  on  which  no 
vehicle  was  allowed  to  move  at  more  than  twelve  miles  an 
hour. 

Beyond  these  great  tracks  lay  an  immense  plain  of  house- 
roofs,  with  short  towers  here  and  there  marking  public 
buildings,  from  the  Caterham  district  on  the  left  to  Croydon 
in  front,  all  clear  and  bright  in  smokeless  air ;  and  far  away 
to  the  west  and  north  showed  the  low  suburban  hills  against 
the  April  sky. 

There  was  surprisingly  little  sound,  considering  the  pres- 
sure of  the  population ;  and,  with  the  exception  of  the  buzz 
of  the  steel  rails  as  a  train  fled  north  or  south,  and  the  oc- 
casional sweet  chord  of  the  great  motors  as  they  neared  or 
left  the  junction,  there  was  little  to  be  heard  in  this  study 
except  a  smooth,  soothing  murmur  that  filled  the  air  like  the 
murmur  of  bees  in  a  garden. 

Oliver  loved  every  hint  of  human  life — all  busy  sights 
and  sounds — and  was  listening  now,  smiling  faintly  to  him- 
self as  he  stared  out  into  the  clear  air.  Then  he  set  his  lips, 
laid  his  fingers  on  the  keys  once  more,  and  went  on  speech- 
constructing. 

He  was  very  fortunate  in  the  situation  of  his  house.  It 
stood  in  an  angle  of  one  of  those  huge  spider-webs  with 
which  the  country  was  covered,  and  for  his  purposes  was  all 
that  he  could  expect.  It  was  close  enough  to  London  to  be 
extremely  cheap,  for  all  wealthy  persons  had  retired  at  least 
a  hundred  miles  from  the  throbbing  heart  of  England ;  and 
yet  it  was  as  quiet  as  he  could  wish.  He  was  within  ten 
minutes  of  Westminster  on  the  one  side,  and  twenty  minutes 


THE  ADVENT  S 

of  the  sea  on  the  other :  and  his  constituency  lay  before  hira 
like  a  raised  map.  Further,  since  the  great  London  termini 
were  but  ten  minutes  away,  there  were  at  his  disposal  the 
First  Trunk  lines  to  every  big  town  in  England.  For  a 
politician  of  no  great  means,  who  was  asked  to  speak  at 
Edinburgh  on  one  evening  and  in  Marseilles  on  the  next, 
he  was  as  well  placed  as  any  man  in  Europe. 

He  was  a  pleasant-looking  man,  not  much  over  thirty 
years  old ;  black  wire-haired,  clean-shaven,  thin,  virile,  mag- 
netic, blue-eyed  and  white-skinned;  and  he  appeared  this 
day  extremely  content  with  himself  and  the  world.  His 
lips  moved  slightly  as  he  worked,  his  eyes  enlarged  and 
diminished  with  excitement,  and  more  than  once  he  paused 
and  stared  out  again,  smiling  and  flushed. 

Then  a  door  opened ;  a  middle-aged  man  came  nervously 
in  with  a  bundle  of  papers,  laid  them  down  on  the  table 
without  a  word,  and  turned  to  go  out.  Oliver  lifted  his 
hand  for  attention,  snapped  a  lever,  and  spoke. 

"Well,  Mr.  Phillips?"  he  said. 

"There  is  news  from  the  East,  sir,"  said  the  secretary. 

Oliver  shot  a  glance  sideways,  and  laid  his  hand  on  the 
bundle. 

"Any  complete  message.''"  he  asked. 

"No,  sir;  it  is  interrupted  again.  Mr.  Felsenburgh's 
name  is  mentioned." 

Oliver  did  not  seem  to  hear;  he  lifted  the  flimsy  printed 
sheets  with  a  sudden  movement,  and  began  turning  them. 

"The  fourth  from  the  top,  ^Ir.  Brand,"  said  the  secretary. 

Oliver  jerked  his  head  impatiently,  and  the  other  went  out 
as  if  at  a  signal. 

The  fourth  sheet  from  the  top,  printed  in  red  on  green. 


4  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

seemed  to  absorb  Oliver's  attention  altogether,  for  he  read 
it  through  two  or  three  times,  leaning  back  motionless  in 
his  chair.  Then  he  sighed,  and  stared  again  through  the 
window. 

Then  once  more  the  door  opened,  and  a  tall  girl  came  in. 

"Well,  my  dear?"  she  observed. 

Oliver  shook  his  head,  with  compressed  lips. 

"Nothing  definite,"  he  said.  "Even  less  than  usual. 
Listen." 

He  took  up  the  green  sheet  and  began  to  read  aloud  as 
the  girl  sat  down  in  a  window-seat  on  his  left. 

She  was  a  very  charming-looking  creature,  tall  and  slen- 
der, with  serious,  ardent  grey  eyes,  firm  red  lips,  and  a 
beautiful  carriage  of  head  and  shoulders.  She  had  walked 
slowly  across  the  room  as  Oliver  took  up  the  paper,  and 
now  sat  back  in  her  brown  dress  in  a  very  graceful  and 
stately  attitude.  She  seemed  to  listen  with  a  deliberate 
kind  of  patience ;  but  her  eyes  flickered  with  interest. 

"  'Irkutsk — April  fourteen — Yesterday — as — usual — But 
— rumoured  —  defection  —  from  —  Sufi — party — Troops 
— continue  —  gathering  —  Felscnburgh  —  addressed — 
Buddhist  —  crowd  —  Attempt  —  on  —  Llama  —  last  — 
Friday  —  work  —  of  —  Anarchists  —  Felsenburgh  — 
leaving  —  for  —  Moscow  —  as  —  arranged  —  he.  .  .  .  ' 
There — that  is  absolutely  all,"  ended  Oliver  dispiritedly. 
"It's  interrupted  as  usual." 

The  girl  began  to  swing  a  foot. 

"I  don't  understand  in  the  least,"  she  said.  "Who  is 
Felsenburgh,  after  all?" 

"My  dear  child,  that  is  what  all  the  world  is  asking. 
Nothing   is    known   except   that  he   was   included   in    the 


THE  ADVENT  6 

American  deputation  at  the  last  moment.  The  Herald 
pubhshed  his  life  last  week;  but  it  has  been  contradicted. 
It  is  certain  that  he  is  quite  a  young  man,  and  that  he  has 
been  quite  obscure  until  now." 

"Well,  he  is  not  obscure  now,"  observed  the  girl. 

"I  know;  it  seems  as  if  he  were  running  the  whole  thing. 
One  never  hears  a  word  of  the  others.  It's  lucky  he's  on 
the  right  side." 

"And  what  do  you  think .'"' 

Oliver  turned  vacant  eyes  again  out  of  the  window. 

"I  think  it  is  touch  and  go,"  he  said.  "The  only  remark- 
able thing  is  that  here  hardly  anybody  seems  to  realise  it. 
It's  too  big  for  the  imagination,  I  suppose.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  the  East  has  been  preparing  for  a  descent  on 
Europe  for  these  last  five  years.  They  have  only  been 
checked  by  America ;  and  this  is  one  last  attempt  to  stop 
them.  But  why  Felsenburgh  should  come  to  the  front — " 
he  broke  off.  "He  must  be  a  good  linguist,  at  any  rate. 
This  is  at  least  the  fifth  crowd  he  has  addressed;  perhaps 
he  is  just  the  American  interpreter.  Christ!  I  wonder 
who  he  is." 

"Has  he  any  other  name.f"' 

"Julian,  I  believe.     One  message  said  so." 

"How  did  this  come  through.'"' 

Oliver  shook  his  head. 

"Private  enterprise,"  he  said.  "The  European  agencies 
have  stopped  work.  Every  telegraph  station  is  guarded 
night  and  day.  There  are  lines  of  volors  strung  out  on 
every  frontier.  The  Empire  means  to  settle  this  business 
without  us." 

"And  if  it  goes  wrong.?" 


6  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"My  dear  Mabel — if  hell  breaks  loose — "  he  threw  out 
his  hands  deprecatingly. 

"And  what  is  the  Government  doing?" 

"Working  night  and  day ;  so  is  the  rest  of  Europe.  It'll 
be  Armageddon  with  a  vengeance  if  it  comes  to  war." 

"What  chance  do  you  see.''" 

"I  see  two  chances,"  said  Oliver  slowly:  "one,  that  they 
may  be  afraid  of  America,  and  may  hold  their  hands  from 
sheer  fear ;  the  other  that  they  may  be  induced  to  hold  their 
hands  from  charity ;  if  only  they  can  be  made  to  understand 
that  co-operation  is  the  one  hope  of  the  world.  But  those 
damned  religions  of  theirs " 

The  girl  sighed,  and  looked  out  again  on  to  the  wide 
plain  of  house-roofs  below  the  window. 

The  situation  was  indeed  as  serious  as  it  could  be.  That 
huge  Empire,  consisting  of  a  federalism  of  States  under 
the  Son  of  Heaven  (made  possible  by  the  merging  of  the 
Japanese  and  Chinese  dynasties  and  the  fall  of  Russia), 
had  been  consolidating  its  forces  and  learning  its  own  power 
during  the  last  thirty-five  years,  ever  since,  in  fact,  it  had 
laid  its  lean  yellow  hands  upon  Australia  and  India.  While 
the  rest  of  the  world  had  learned  the  folly  of  war,  ever  since 
the  fall  of  the  Russian  republic  under  the  combined  attack 
of  the  yellow  races,  the  last  had  grasped  its  possibilities. 
It  seemed  now  as  if  the  civilisation  of  the  last  century  was 
to  be  swept  back  once  more  into  chaos.  It  was  not  that  the 
mob  of  the  East  cared  very  greatly ;  it  was  their  rulers  who 
had  begun  to  stretch  themselves  after  an  almost  eternal 
lethargy,  and  it  was  hard  to  imagine  how  they  could  be 
checked  at  this  point.  There  was  a  touch  of  grimness  too 
in  the  rumour  that  religious  fanaticism  was  behind  the 


THE  ADVENT  7 

movement,  and  that  the  patient  East  proposed  at  last  to 
proselytise  by  the  modern  equivalents  of  fire  and  sword 
those  who  had  laid  aside  for  the  most  part  all  religious 
beliefs  except  that  in  Humanity.  To  Oliver  it  was  simply 
maddening.  As  he  looked  from  his  window  and  saw  that 
vast  limit  of  London  laid  peaceably  before  him,  as  his 
imagination  ran  out  over  Europe  and  saw  everywhere  that 
steady  triumph  of  common  sense  and  fact  over  the  wild 
fairy-stories  of  Christianity,  it  seemed  intolerable  that 
there  should  be  even  a  possibility  that  all  this  should  be 
swept  back  again  into  the  barbarous  turmoil  of  sects  and 
dogmas ;  for  no  less  than  this  would  be  the  result  if  the 
East  laid  hands  on  Europe.  Even  Catholicism  would  re- 
vive, he  told  himself,  that  strange  faith  that  had  blazed  so 
often  as  persecution  had  been  dashed  to  quench  it;  and, 
of  all  forms  of  faith,  to  Oliver's  mind  Catholicism  was  the 
most  grotesque  and  enslaving.  And  the  prospect  of  all 
this  honestly  troubled  him,  far  more  than  the  thought  of 
the  physical  catastrophe  and  bloodshed  that  would  fall  on 
Europe  with  the  advent  of  the  East.  There  was  but  one 
hope  on  the  religious  side,  as  he  had  told  Mabel  a  dozen 
times,  and  that  was  that  the  Quietistic  Pantheism  which  for 
the  last  century  had  made  such  giant  strides  in  East  and 
West  alike,  among  Mohammedans,  Buddhists,  Hindus, 
Confucianists  and  the  rest,  should  avail  to  check  the  super- 
natural frenzy  that  inspired  their  exoteric  brethren. 
Pantheism,  he  understood,  was  what  he  held  himself;  for 
him  "God"  was  the  developing  sum  of  created  life,  and 
impersonal  Unity  was  the  essence  of  His  being;  compe- 
tition then  was  the  great  heresy  that  set  men  one  against 
another    and    delayed    all    progress ;    for,    to    his    mind, 


8  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

progress  lay  in  the  merging  of  the  individual  in  the  family, 
of  the  family  in  the  commonwealth,  of  the  commonwealth  in 
the  continent,  and  of  the  continent  in  the  world.  Finally, 
the  world  itself  at  any  moment  was  no  more  than  the  mood 
of  impersonal  life.  It  was,  in  fact,  the  Catholic  idea  with 
the  supernatural  left  out,  a  union  of  earthly  fortunes,  an 
abandonment  of  individualism  on  the  one  side,  and  of  super- 
naturalism  on  the  other.  It  was  treason  to  appeal  from 
God  Immanent  to  God  Transcendent;  there  was  no  God 
transcendent ;  God,  so  far  as  He  could  be  known,  was  man. 
Yet  these  two,  husband  and  wife  after  a  fashion — for 
they  had  entered  into  that  terminable  contract  now  recog- 
nised explicitly  by  the  State — these  two  were  very  far  from 
sharing  in  the  usual  heavy  dulness  of  mere  materialists. 
The  world,  for  them,  beat  with  one  ardent  life  blossoming 
in  flower  and  beast  and  man,  a  torrent  of  beautiful  vigour 
flowing  from  a  deep  source  and  irrigating  all  that  moved 
or  felt.  Its  romance  was  the  more  appreciable  because  it 
was  comprehensible  to  the  minds  that  sprang  from  it ; 
there  were  mysteries  in  it,  but  mysteries  that  enticed  rather 
than  baffled,  for  they  unfolded  new  glories  with  every  dis- 
covery that  man  could  make;  even  inanimate  objects,  the 
fossil,  the  electric  current,  the  far-off  stars,  these  were  dust 
thrown  off^  by  the  Spirit  of  the  World — fragrant  with  His 
Presence  and  eloquent  of  His  Nature.  For  example,  the 
announcement  made  by  Klein,  the  astronomer,  twenty  years 
before,  that  the  inhabitation  of  certain  planets  had  become 
a  certified  fact — how  vastly  this  had  altered  men's  views 
of  themselves.  But  the  one  condition  of  progress  and  the 
building  of  Jerusalem,  on  the  planet  that  happened  to  be 
men's  dwelling  place,  was  peace,  not  the  sword  which  Christ 


THE  ADVENT  9 

brought  or  that  which  Mahomet  wielded;  but  peace  that 
arose  from,  not  passed,  understanding;  the  peace  that 
sprang  from  a  knowledge  that  man  was  all  and  was  able 
to  develop  himself  only  by  sympathy  with  his  fellows.  To 
Oliver  and  his  wife,  then,  the  last  century  seemed  like  a 
revelation ;  little  by  little  the  old  superstitions  had  died, 
and  the  new  light  broadened ;  the  Spirit  of  the  World  had 
roused  Himself,  the  sun  had  dawned  in  the  west ;  and  now 
with  horror  and  loathing  they  had  seen  the  clouds  gather 
once  more  in  the  quarter  whence  all  superstition  had  had  its 
birth. 

Mabel  got  up  presently  and  came  across  to  her  husband. 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  "you  must  not  be  downhearted.  It 
all  may  pass  as  it  passed  before.  It  is  a  great  thing  that 
they  are  listening  to  America  at  all.  And  this  Mr.  Felsen- 
burgh  seems  to  be  on  the  right  side." 

Oliver  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it. 


II 


Oliver  seemed  altogether  depressed  at  breakfast,  half  an 
hour  later.  His  mother,  an  old  lady  of  nearly  eighty,  who 
never  appeared  till  noon,  seemed  to  see  it  at  once,  for  after 
a  look  or  two  at  him  and  a  word,  she  subsided  into  silence 
behind  her  plate. 

It  was  a  pleasant  little  room  in  which  they  sat,  immediately 
behind  Oliver's  own,  and  was  furnished,  according  to  uni- 
versal custom,  in  light  green.  Its  windows  looked  out  upon 
a  strip  of  garden  at  the  back,  and  the  high  creeper-grown 


10  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

wall  that  separated  that  domain  from  the  next.  The  furni- 
ture, too,  was  of  the  usual  sort ;  a  sensible  round  table  stood 
in  the  middle,  with  three  tall  arm-chairs,  with  the  proper 
angles  and  rests,  drawn  up  to  it ;  and  the  centre  of  it,  rest- 
ing apparently  on  a  broad  round  column,  held  the  dishes. 
It  was  thirty  years  now  since  the  practice  of  placing  the 
dining-room  above  the  kitchen,  and  of  raising  and  lowering 
the  courses  by  hydraulic  power  into  the  centre  of  the  din- 
ing-table,  had  become  universal  in  the  houses  of  the  well- 
to-do.  The  floor  consisted  entirely  of  the  asbestos  cork 
preparation  invented  in  America,  noiseless,  clean,  and  pleas- 
ant to  both  foot  and  eye. 

Mabel  broke  the  silence. 

"And  your  speech  to-morrow?"  she  asked,  taking  up  her 
fork. 

Oliver  brightened  a  little,  and  began  to  discourse. 

It  seemed  that  Birmingham  was  beginning  to  fret.  They 
were  crying  out  once  more  for  free  trade  with  America: 
European  facilities  were  not  enough,  and  it  was  Oliver's 
business  to  keep  them  quiet.  It  was  useless,  he  proposed 
to  tell  them,  to  agitate  until  the  Eastern  business  was  set- 
tled: they  must  not  bother  the  Government  with  such  de- 
tails just  now.  He  was  to  tell  them,  too,  that  the  Govern- 
ment was  wholly  on  their  side ;  that  it  was  bound  to  come 
soon. 

"They  are  pig-headed,"  he  added  fiercely ;  "pig-headed 
and  selfish ;  they  are  like  children  who  cr}^  for  food  ten  min- 
utes before  dinner-time:  it  is  bound  to  come  if  they  will 
wait  a  little." 

"And  you  will  tell  them  so  ?" 

"That  they  are  pig-headed?    Certainly." 


THE  ADVENT  11 

Mabel  looked  at  her  husband  with  a  pleased  twinkle  in  her 
eyes.  She  knew  perfectly  well  that  his  popularity  rested 
largely  on  his  outspokenness :  folks  liked  to  be  scolded  and 
abused  by  a  genial  bold  man  who  danced  and  gesticulated 
in  a  magnetic  fury ;  she  liked  it  herself. 

"How  shall  you  go?"  she  asked. 

"Volor.  I  shall  catch  the  eighteen  o'clock  at  Blackfriars ; 
the  meeting  is  at  nineteen,  and  I  shall  be  back  at  twenty- 
one." 

He  addressed  himself  vigorously  to  his  entree,  and  his 
mother  looked  up  with  a  patient,  old-woman  smile. 

Mabel  began  to  drum  her  fingers  softly  on  the  damask. 

"Please  make  haste,  my  dear,"  she  said ;  "I  have  to  be 
at  Brighton  at  three." 

Oliver  gulped  his  last  mouthful,  pushed  his  plate  over  the 
line,  glanced  to  see  if  all  plates  were  there,  and  then  put 
his  hand  beneath  the  table. 

Instantl}'^,  without  a  sound,  the  centre-piece  vanished,  and 
the  three  waited  unconcernedly  while  the  clink  of  dishes 
came  from  beneath. 

Old  Mrs.  Brand  was  a  hale-looking  old  lady,  rosy  and 
wrinkled,  with  the  mantilla  head-dress  of  fifty  years  ago ; 
but  she,  too,  looked  a  little  depressed  this  morning.  The 
entree  was  not  very  successful,  she  thought ;  the  new  food- 
stuff was  not  up  to  the  old,  it  was  a  trifle  gritty :  she  would 
see  about  it  afterwards.  There  was  a  clink,  a  soft  sound 
like  a  push,  and  the  centre-piece  snapped  into  its  place, 
bearing  an  admirable  imitation  of  a  roasted  fowl. 

Oliver  and  his  wife  were  alone  again  for  a  minute  or  two 
after  breakfast  before  Mabel  started  down  the  path  to 


12  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

catch  the  141/2  o'clock  4th  grade  sub-trunk  line  to  the 
junction. 

"What's  the  matter  with  mother?"  he  said. 

"Oh !  it's  the  food-stuff  again :  she's  never  got  accustomed 
to  it ;  she  says  it  doesn't  suit  her." 

"Nothing  else.?" 

"No,  my  dear,  I  am  sure  of  it.  She  hasn't  said  a  word 
lately." 

Oliver  watched  his  wife  go  down  the  path,  reassured.  He 
had  been  a  little  troubled  once  or  twice  lately  by  an  odd 
word  or  two  that  his  mother  had  let  fall.  She  had  been 
brought  up  a  Christian  for  a  few  years,  and  it  seemed  to 
him  sometimes  as  if  it  had  left  a  taint.  There  was  an  old 
"Garden  of  the  Soul"  that  she  liked  to  keep  by  her,  though 
she  always  protested  Avith  an  appearance  of  scorn  that  it 
was  nothing  but  nonsense.  Still,  Oliver  would  have  pre- 
ferred that  she  had  burned  it :  superstition  was  a  desperate 
thing  for  retaining  life,  and,  as  the  brain  weakened,  might 
conceivably  reassert  itself.  Christianity  was  both  wild  and 
dull,  he  told  himself,  wild  because  of  its  obvious  grotesque- 
ness  and  impossibility,  and  dull  because  it  was  so  utterly 
apart  from  the  exhilarating  stream  of  human  life ;  it  crept 
dustily  about  still,  he  knew,  in  little  dark  churches  here  and 
there ;  it  screamed  with  hysterical  sentimentality  in  West- 
minster Cathedral  which  he  had  once  entered  and  looked 
upon  with  a  kind  of  disgusted  fury ;  it  gabbled  strange, 
false  words  to  the  incompetent  and  the  old  and  the  half- 
witted. But  it  would  be  too  dreadful  if  his  own  mother 
ever  looked  upon  it  again  with  favour. 

Oliver  himself,  ever  since  he  could  remember,  had  been 
violently  opposed  to  the  concessions  to  Rome  and  Ireland. 


THE  ADVENT  18 

It  was  intolerable  that  these  two  places  should  be  definitely 
yielded  up  to  this  foolish,  treacherous  nonsense:  they  were 
hot-beds  of  sedition ;  plague-spots  on  the  face  of  humanity. 
He  had  never  agreed  with  those  who  said  that  it  was  better 
that  all  the  poison  of  the  West  should  be  gathered  rather 
than  dispersed.  But,  at  any  rate,  there  it  was.  Rome  had 
been  given  up  wholly  to  that  old  man  in  white  in  exchange 
for  all  the  parish  churches  and  cathedrals  of  Italy,  and  it 
was  understood  that  mediaeval  darkness  reigned  there  su- 
preme ;  and  Ireland,  after  receiving  Home  Rule  thirty  years 
before,  had  declared  for  Catholicism,  and  opened  her  arms 
to  Individualism  in  its  most  virulent  form.  England  had 
laughed  and  assented,  for  she  was  saved  from  a  quantity  of 
agitation  by  the  immediate  departure  of  half  her  Catholic 
population  for  that  island,  and  had,  consistently  with  her 
Communist-colonial  policy,  granted  every  facility  for  In- 
dividualism to  reduce  itself  there  ad  absurdum.  All  kinds 
of  funny  things  were  happening  there :  Oliver  had  read  with 
a  bitter  amusement  of  new  appearances  there,  of  a  Woman 
in  Blue  and  shrines  raised  where  her  feet  had  rested;  but 
he  was  scarcely  amused  at  Rome,  for  the  movement  to  Turin 
of  the  Italian  Government  had  deprived  the  Republic  of 
quite  a  quantity  of  sentimental  prestige,  and  had  haloed 
the  old  religious  nonsense  with  all  the  meretriciousness  of 
historical  association.  However,  it  obviously  could  not  last 
much  longer:  the  world  was  beginning  to  understand  at 
last. 

He  stood  a  moment  or  two  at  the  door  after  his  wife  had 
gone,  drinking  in  reassurance  from  that  glorious  vision  of 
solid  sense  that  spread  itself  before  his  eyes:  the  endless 
house-roofs ;  the  high  glass  vaults  of  the  public  baths  and 


14  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

gymnasiums ;  the  pinnacled  schools  where  Citizenship  was 
taught  each  morning ;  the  spider-like  cranes  and  scaffold- 
ings that  rose  here  and  there ;  and  even  the  few  pricking 
spires  did  not  disconcert  him.  There  it  stretched  away  into 
the  grey  haze  of  London,  really  beautiful,  this  vast  hive 
of  men  and  women  who  had  learned  at  least  the  primary 
lesson  of  the  gospel  that  there  was  no  God  but  man,  no 
priest  but  the  politician,  no  prophet  but  the  schoolmaster. 
Then  he  went  back  once  more  to  his  speech-constructing. 

Mabel,  too,  was  a  little  thoughtful  as  she  sat  with  her 
paper  on  her  lap,  spinning  down  the  broad  line  to  Brighton. 
This  Eastern  news  was  more  disconcerting  to  her  than  she 
allowed  her  husband  to  see;  yet  it  seemed  incredible  that 
there  could  be  any  real  danger  of  invasion.  This  Western 
life  was  so  sensible  and  peaceful ;  folks  had  their  feet  at 
last  upon  the  rock,  and  it  was  unthinkable  that  they  could 
ever  be  forced  back  on  to  the  mud-flats :  it  was  contrary 
to  the  whole  law  of  development.  Yet  she  could  not  but 
recognise  that  catastrophe  seemed  one  of  nature's 
methods.  .    .    . 

She  sat  very  quiet,  glancing  once  or  twice  at  the  meagre 
little  scrap  of  news,  and  read  the  leading  article  upon  it: 
that  too  seemed  significant  of  dismay.  A  couple  of  men  were 
talking  in  the  half-compartment  beyond  on  the  same  sub- 
ject; one  described  the  Government  engineering  works  that 
he  had  visited,  the  breathless  haste  that  dominated  them ; 
the  other  put  in  interrogations  and  questions.  There  was 
not  much  comfort  there.  There  were  no  windows  through 
which  she  could  look ;  on  the  main  lines  the  speed  was  too 
great  for  the  eyes ;  the  long  compartment  flooded  with  soft 


THE  ADVENT  15 

light  bounded  her  horizon.  She  stared  at  the  moulded 
white  ceiling,  the  delicious  oak-framed  paintings,  the  deep 
spring-seats,  the  mellow  globes  overhead  that  poured  out 
radiance,  at  a  mother  and  child  diagonally  opposite  her. 
Then  the  great  chord  sounded ;  the  faint  vibration  increased 
ever  so  slightly ;  and  an  instant  later  the  automatic  doors 
ran  back,  and  she  stepped  out  on  to  the  platform  of  Brigh- 
ton station. 

As  she  went  down  the  steps  leading  to  the  station  square 
she  noticed  a  priest  going  before  her.  He  seemed  a  very 
upright  and  sturdy  old  man,  for  though  his  hair  was  white 
he  walked  steadily  and  strongly.  At  the  foot  of  the  steps 
he  stopped  and  half  turned,  and  then,  to  her  surprise,  she 
saw  that  his  face  Avas  that  of  a  young  man,  fine-featured 
and  strong,  with  black  eyebrows  and  very  bright  grey  eyes. 
Then  she  passed  on  and  began  to  cross  the  square  in  the 
direction  of  her  aunt's  house. 

Then  without  the  slightest  warning,  except  one  shrill 
hoot  from  overhead,  a  number  of  things  happened. 

A  great  shadow  whirled  across  the  sunlight  at  her  feet, 
a  sound  of  rending  tore  the  air,  and  a  noise  like  a  giant's 
sigh;  and,  as  she  stopped  bewildered,  with  a  noise  like  ten 
thousand  smashed  kettles,  a  hufje  thinn;  crashed  on  the  rub- 
ber  pavement  before  her,  where  it  lay,  filling  half  the  square, 
writhing  long  wings  on  its  upper  side  that  beat  and  whirled 
like  the  flappers  of  some  ghastly  extinct  monster,  pouring 
out  human  screams,  and  beginning  almost  instantly  to  crawl 
with  broken  life. 

Mabel  scarcely  knew  what  happened  next ;  but  she  found 
herself  a  moment  later  forced  forward  by  some  violent  pres- 
sure from  behind,  till  she  stood  shaking  from  head  to  foot, 


16  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

with  some  kind  of  smashed  body  of  a  man  moaning  and 
stretching  at  her  feet.  There  was  a  sort  of  articulate  lan- 
guage coming  from  it ;  she  caught  distinctly  the  names  of 
Jesus  and  Mary ;  then  a  voice  hissed  suddenly  in  her  ears : 

"Let  me  through.     I  am  a  priest." 

She  stood  there  a  moment  longer,  dazed  by  the  sudden- 
ness of  the  whole  affair,  and  watched  almost  unintelligently 
the  grey-haired  young  priest  on  his  knees,  with  his  coat 
torn  open,  and  a  crucifix  out ;  she  saw  him  bend  close,  wave 
his  hand  in  a  swift  sign,  and  heard  a  murmur  of  a  language 
she  did  not  know.  Then  he  was  up  again,  holding  the 
crucifix  before  him,  and  she  saw  him  begin  to  move  forward 
into  the  midst  of  the  red-flooded  pavement,  looking  this 
way  and  that  as  if  for  a  signal.  Down  the  steps  of  the 
great  hospital  on  her  right  came  figures  running  now,  hat- 
less,  each  carrying  what  looked  like  an  old-fashioned 
camera.  She  knew  what  those  men  were,  and  her  heart 
leaped  in  relief.  They  were  the  ministers  of  euthanasia. 
Then  she  felt  herself  taken  by  the  shoulder  and  pulled  back, 
and  immediately  found  herself  in  the  front  rank  of  a  crowd 
that  was  swaying  and  crying  out,  and  behind  a  line  of 
police  and  civilians  who  had  formed  themselves  into  a 
cordon  to  keep  the  pressure  back. 


Ill 


Oliver  was  in  a  panic  of  terror  as  his  mother,  half  an  hour 
later,  ran  in  with  the  news  that  one  of  the  Government 
volors  had  fallen  in  the  station  square  at  Brighton  just 
after  the  14^  train  had  discharged  its  passengers.     He 


THE  ADVENT  17 

knew  quite  well  what  that  meant,  for  he  remembered  one 
such  accident  ten  years  before,  just  after  the  law  forbid- 
ding private  volors  had  been  passed.  It  meant  that  every 
living  creature  in  it  was  killed  and  probably  many  more 
in  the  place  where  it  fell — and  what  then?  The  message 
was  clear  enough ;  she  would  certainly  be  in  the  square  at 
that  time. 

He  sent  a  desperate  wire  to  her  aunt  asking  for  news; 
and  sat,  shaking  in  his  chair,  awaiting  the  answer.  His 
mother  sat  by  him. 

"Please  God — "  she  sobbed  out  once,  and  stopped  con- 
founded as  he  turned  on  her. 

But  Fate  was  merciful,  and  three  minutes  before  Mr. 
Phillips  toiled  up  the  path  with  the  answer,  Mabel  herself 
came  into  the  room,  rather  pale  and  smiling. 

"Christ !"  cried  Oliver,  and  gave  one  huge  sob  as  he 
sprang  up. 

She  had  not  a  great  deal  to  tell  him.  There  was  no  ex- 
planation of  the  disaster  published  as  yet;  it  seemed  that 
the  wings  on  one  side  had  simply  ceased  to  work. 

She  described  the  shadow,  the  hiss  of  sound,  and  the  crash. 
Then  she  stopped. 

"Well,  my  dear.'"'  said  her  husband,  still  rather  white  be- 
neath the  eyes  as  he  sat  close  to  her  patting  her  hand. 

"There  was  a  priest  there,"  said  Mabel.  "I  saw  him  be- 
fore, at  the  station." 

Oliver  gave  a  little  hysterical  snort  of  laughter. 

"He  was  on  his  knees  at  once,"  she  said,  "with  his  crucifix, 
even  before  the  doctors  came.  My  dear,  do  people  really 
believe  all  that.?" 

"Why,  they  think  they  do,"  said  her  husband. 


18  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"It  was  all  so — so  sudden ;  and  there  he  was,  just  as  if  he 
had  been  expecting  it  all.    Oliver,  how  can  they?" 

"Why,  people  will  believe  anything  if  they  begin  early 
enough." 

"And  the  man  seemed  to  believe  it,  too — the  dying  man, 
I  mean.     I  saw  his  eyes." 

She  stopped. 

"Well,  my  dear?" 

"Oliver,  what  do  you  say  to  people  when  they  are  dying?" 

"Say!  Why,  nothing!  What  can  I  say?  But  I  don't 
think  I've  ever  seen  any  one  die." 

"Nor  have  I  till  to-day,"  said  the  girl,  and  shivered  a 
little.     "The  euthanasia  people  were  soon  at  work." 

Oliver  took  her  hand  gently. 

"My  darling,  it  must  have  been  frightful.  Why,  you're 
trembling  still." 

"No ;  but  listen.  .  .  .  You  know,  if  I  had  had  anything 
to  say  I  could  have  said  it  too.  They  were  all  just  in  front 
of  me :  I  wondered ;  then  I  knew  I  hadn't.  I  couldn't  pos- 
sibly have  talked  about  Humanity." 

"My  dear,  it's  all  very  sad ;  but  you  know  it  doesn't  really 
matter.     It's  all  over." 

"And — and  they've  just  stopped?" 

"Why,  yes." 

Mabel  compressed  her  lips  a  little ;  then  she  sighed.  She 
had  an  agitated  sort  of  meditation  in  the  train.  She  knew 
perfectly  that  it  was  sheer  nerves;  l*jt  she  could  not  just 
yet  shake  them  off.  As  she  had  said,  it  was  the  first  time 
she  had  seen  death. 

"And  that  priest — that  priest  doesn't  think  so?" 

"My  dear,  I'll  tell  you  what  he  believes.    He  believes  that 


THE  ADVENT  19 

that  man  whom  he  showed  the  crucifix  to,  and  said  those 
words  over,  is  ahve  somewhere,  in  spite  of  his  brain  being 
dead :  he  is  not  quite  sure  where ;  but  he  is  either  in  a  kind 
of  smelting  works  being  slowly  burned ;  or,  if  he  is  very 
lucky,  and  that  piece  of  wood  took  effect,  he  is  somewhere 
beyond  the  clouds,  before  Three  Persons  who  are  only  One 
although  They  are  Three ;  that  there  are  quantities  of  other 
people  there,  a  Woman  in  Blue,  a  great  many  others  in 
white  with  their  heads  under  their  arms,  and  still  more  with 
their  heads  on  one  side ;  and  that  they've  all  got  harps  and 
go  on  singing  for  ever  and  ever,  and  walking  about  on  the 
clouds,  and  liking  it  very  much  indeed.  He  thinks,  too,  that 
all  these  nice  people  are  perpetually  looking  down  upon 
the  aforesaid  smelting-works,  and  praising  the  Three  Great 
Persons  for  making  them.  That's  what  the  priest  believes. 
Now  you  know  it's  not  likely ;  that  kind  of  thing  may  be 
very  nice,  but  it  isn't  true." 

Mabel  smiled  pleasantly.  She  had  never  heard  it  put  so 
well. 

"No,  my  dear,  you're  quite  right.  That  sort  of  thing 
isn't  true.  How  can  he  believe  it.?  He  looked  quite  intelli- 
gent !" 

"My  dear  girl,  if  I  had  told  you  in  your  cradle  that  the 
moon  was  green  cheese,  and  had  hammered  at  you  ever 
since,  every  day  and  all  day,  that  it  was,  you'd  very  nearly 
believe  it  b}'  now.  Why,  you  know  in  your  heart  that  the 
euthanatisers  are  the  real  priests.     Of  course  you  do." 

INJabel  sighed  with  satisfaction  and  stood  up. 

"Oliver,  you're  a  most  comforting  person.  I  do  like  you ! 
There !    I  must  go  to  my  room :  I'm  all  shaky  still." 

Half  across  the  room  she  stopped  and  put  out  a  shoe. 


20  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"Why — "  she  began  faintly. 

There  was  a  curious  rusty-looking  splash  upon  it ;  and  her 
husband  saw  her  turn  white.    He  rose  abruptly. 
"My  dear,"  he  said,  "don't  be  fooHsh." 
She  looked  at  him,  smiled  bravely,  and  went  out. 

When  she  was  gone,  he  still  sat  on  a  moment  where  she 
had  left  him.  Dear  me !  how  pleased  he  was !  He  did  not 
like  to  think  of  what  life  would  have  been  without  her.  He 
had  known  her  since  she  was  twelve — that  was  seven  years 
ago — and  last  year  they  had  gone  together  to  the  district 
official  to  make  their  contract.  She  had  really  become  very 
necessary  to  him.  Of  course  the  world  could  get  on  without 
her,  and  he  supposed  that  he  could  too  ;  but  he  did  not  want 
to  have  to  try.  He  knew  perfectly  well,  for  it  was  his  creed 
of  human  love,  that  there  was  between  them  a  double  affec- 
tion, of  mind  as  well  as  body;  and  there  was  absolutely 
nothing  else :  but  he  loved  her  quick  intuitions,  and  to  hear 
his  own  thought  echoed  so  perfectly.  It  was  like  two  flames 
added  together  to  make  a  third  taller  than  either :  of  course 
one  flame  could  burn  without  the  other — in  fact,  one  would 
have  to,  one  day — but  meantime  the  warmth  and  light  were 
exhilarating.  Yes,  he  was  delighted  that  she  happened  to 
be  clear  of  the  falling  volor. 

He  gave  no  more  thought  to  his  exposition  of  the  Chris- 
tian creed ;  it  was  a  mere  commonplace  to  him  that  Catho- 
lics believed  that  kind  of  thing ;  it  was  no  more  blasphemous 
to  his  mind  so  to  describe  it,  than  it  would  be  to  laugh  at  a 
Fijian  idol  with  mother-of-pearl  eyes,  and  a  horse-hair 
wig ;  it  was  simply  impossible  to  treat  it  seriously.  He,  too, 
had  wondered  once  or  twice  in  his  life  how  human  beings 


THE  ADVENT  21 

could  believe  such  rubbish ;  but  psychology  had  helped  him, 
and  he  knew  now  well  enough  that  suggestion  will  do  almost 
anything.  And  it  was  this  hateful  thing  that  had  so  long 
restrained  the  euthanasia  movement  with  all  its  splendid 
mercy. 

His  brows  wrinkled  a  little  as  he  remembered  his  mother's 
exclamation,  "Please  God" ;  then  he  smiled  at  the  poor  old 
thing  and  her  pathetic  childishness,  and  turned  once  more 
to  his  table,  thinking  in  spite  of  himself  of  his  wife's  hesi- 
tation as  she  had  seen  the  splash  of  blood  on  her  shoe. 
Blood!  Yes;  that  was  as  much  a  fact  as  anything  else. 
How  was  it  to  be  dealt  with.?  Why,  by  the  glorious  creed 
of  Humanity — that  splendid  God  who  died  and  rose  again 
ten  thousand  times  a  day,  who  had  died  daily  like  the  old 
cracked  fanatic  Saul  of  Tarsus,  ever  since  the  world  began, 
and  who  rose  again,  not  once  like  the  Carpenter's  Son,  but 
with  every  child  that  came  into  the  world.  That  was  the 
ansM^er;  and  was  it  not  overwhelmingly  sufficient.? 

Mr.  Phillips  came  in  an  hour  later  with  another  bundle 
of  papers. 

"No  more  news  from  the  East,  sir,"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  II 


Percy  Franklin's  correspondence  with  the  Cardinal- 
Protector  of  England  occupied  him  directly  for  at  least 
two  hours  every  day,  and  for  nearly  eight  hours  indirectly. 

For  the  past  eight  years  the  methods  of  the  Holy  See 
had  once  more  been  revised  with  a  view  to  modern  needs, 
and  now  every  important  province  throughout  the  world 
possessed  not  only  an  administrative  metropolitan  but  a 
representative  in  Rome  whose  business  it  was  to  be  in  touch 
with  the  Pope  on  the  one  side  and  the  people  he  represented 
on  the  other.  In  other  words,  centralisation  had  gone  for- 
ward rapidly,  in  accordance  with  the  laws  of  life;  and, 
with  centralisation,  freedom  of  method  and  expansion  of 
power.  England's  Cardinal-Protector  was  one  Abbot 
Martin,  a  Benedictine,  and  it  was  Percy's  business,  as  of  a 
dozen  more  bishops,  priests  and  la^'men  (with  whom,  by 
the  way,  he  was  forbidden  to  hold  an}^  formal  consultation), 
to  write  a  long  daily  letter  to  him  on  affairs  that  came 
under  his  notice. 

It  was  a  curious  life,  therefore,  that  Pcrc}'  kd.  He  had  a 
couple  of  rooms  assigned  to  him  in  Archbishop's  House  at 
Westminster,  and  was  attaclied  loosely  to  the  Cathedral 
staff,  although  with  considerable  liberty.  He  rose  early, 
and  went  to  meditation  for  an  hour,  after  which  he  said  his 
mass.  He  took  his  coffee  soon  after,  said  a  little  office,  and 
then  settled  down  to  map  out  his  letter.     At  ten  o'clock  he 


THE  ADVENT  23 

was  ready  to  receive  callers,  and  till  noon  he  was  generally 
busy  with  both  those  who  came  to  see  him  on  their  own  re- 
sponsibility and  his  staff  of  half-a-dozen  reporters  whose 
business  it  was  to  bring  him  marked  paragraphs  in  the 
newspapers  and  their  own  comments.  He  then  breakfasted 
with  the  other  priests  in  the  house,  and  set  out  soon  after 
to  call  on  people  whose  opinion  was  necessary,  returning  for 
a  cup  of  tea  soon  after  sixteen  o'clock.  Then  he  settled 
down,  after  the  rest  of  his  office  and  a  visit  to  the  Blessed 
Sacrament,  to  compose  his  letter,  which  though  short, 
needed  a  great  deal  of  care  and  sifting.  After  dinner  he 
made  a  few  notes  for  next  day,  received  visitors  again,  and 
went  to  bed  soon  after  twenty-two  o'clock.  Twice  a  week 
it  was  his  business  to  assist  at  Vespers  in  the  afternoon, 
and  he  usually  sang  high  mass  on  Saturdays. 

It  was,  therefore,  a  curiously  distracting  life,  with  pe- 
culiar dangers. 

It  was  one  day,  a  week  or  two  after  his  visit  to  Brighton, 
that  he  was  just  finishing  his  letter,  when  his  servant  looked 
in  to  tell  him  that  Father  Francis  was  below. 

"In  ten  minutes,"  said  Percy,  without  looking  up. 

He  snapped  off  his  last  lines,  drew  out  the  sheet,  and 
settled  down  to  read  it  over,  translating  it  unconsciously 
from  Latin  to  English. 

"Westminster,  May  14th. 
"Eminence  :  Since  yesterday  I  have  a  little  more  informa- 
tion. It  appears  certain  that  the  Bill  establishing  Es- 
peranto for  all  State  purposes  will  be  brought  in  in  June. 
I  have  had  this  from  Johnson.  This,  as  I  have  pointed  out 
before,  is  the  very  last  stone  in  our  consolidation  with  the 
continent,  which,  at  present,  is  to  be  regretted.  ...  A 
great  access  of  Jews  to  Freemasonry  is  to  be  expected; 


M  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

hitherto  they  have  held  aloof  to  some  extent,  but  the 
'abolition  of  the  Idea  of  God'  is  tending  to  draw  in  those 
Jews,  now  greatly  on  the  increase  once  more,  who  repudiate 
all  notion  of  a  personal  Messiah.  It  is  'Humanity'  here, 
too,  that  is  at  work.  To-day  I  heard  the  Rabbi  Simeon 
speak  to  this  effect  in  the  City,  and  was  impressed  by  the  ap- 
plause he  received.  .  .  .  Yet  among  others  an  expectation 
is  growing  that  a  man  will  presently  be  found  to  lead  the 
Communist  movement  and  unite  their  forces  more  closely. 
I  enclose  a  verbose  cutting  from  the  New  People  to  that 
effect;  and  it  is  echoed  everywhere.  They  say  that  the 
cause  must  give  birth  to  one  such  soon ;  that  they  have  had 
prophets  and  precursors  for  a  hundred  years  past,  and 
lately  a  cessation  of  them.  It  is  strange  how  this  coin- 
cides superficially  with  Christian  ideas.  Your  Eminence 
will  observe  that  a  simile  of  the  'ninth  wave'  is  used  with 
some  eloquence.  ...  I  hear  to-day  of  the  secession  of  an 
old  Catholic  family,  the  Wargraves  of  Norfolk,  with  their 
chaplain  Micklem,  who  it  seems  has  been  busy  in  this  direc- 
tion for  some  while.  The  Epoch  announces  it  with  satisfac- 
tion, owing  to  the  peculiar  circumstances ;  but  unhappily 
such  events  are  not  uncommon  now.  .  .  .  There  is  much 
distrust  among  the  laity.  Seven  priests  in  Westminster 
diocese  have  left  us  within  the  last  three  months;  on  the 
other  hand,  I  have  pleasure  in  telling  your  Eminence  that 
his  Grace  received  into  Catholic  Communion  this  morning 
the  ex-Anglican  Bishop  of  Carhsle,  with  half-a-dozen  of 
his  clergy.  This  has  been  expected  for  some  weeks  past. 
I  append  also  cuttings  from  the  Tribune,  the  London 
Trumpet,  and  the  Observer,  with  my  comments  upon  them. 
Your  Eminence  will  see  how  great  the  excitement  is  with 
regard  to  the  last. 

"Recommendation.  That  formal  excommunication  of  the 
Wargraves  and  these  eight  priests  should  be  issued  in 
Norfolk  and  Westminster  respectively,  and  no  further 
notice  taken." 


THE  ADVENT  25 

Percy  laid  down  the  sheet,  gathered  up  the  half  dozen 
other  papers  that  contained  his  extracts  and  running  com- 
mentary, signed  the  last,  and  slipped  the  whole  into  the 
printed  envelope  that  lay  ready. 

Then  he  took  up  his  biretta  and  went  to  the  lift. 

The  moment  he  came  into  the  glass-doored  parlour  he 
saw  that  the  crisis  was  come,  if  not  passed  already.  Father 
Francis  looked  miserably  ill,  but  there  was  a  curious  hard- 
ness, too,  about  his  eyes  and  mouth,  as  he  stood  waiting. 
He  shook  his  head  abruptly. 

"I  have  come  to  say  good-bye,  father.  I  can  bear  it  no 
more." 

Percy  was  careful  to  show  no  emotion  at  all.  He  made  a 
little  sign  to  a  chair,  and  himself  sat  down  too. 

"It  is  an  end  of  everything,"  said  the  other  again  in  a  per- 
fectly steady  voice.  "I  believe  nothing.  I  have  believed 
nothing  for  a  year  now." 
"You  have  felt  nothing,  you  mean,"  said  Percy. 
"That  won't  do,  father,"  went  on  the  other.  "I  tell  you 
there  is  nothing  left.  I  can't  even  argue  now.  It  is  just 
good-bye." 

Percy  had  nothing  to  say.  He  had  talked  to  this  man 
during  a  period  of  over  eight  months,  ever  since  Father 
Francis  had  first  confided  in  him  that  his  faith  was  going. 
He  understood  perfectly  what  a  strain  it  had  been ;  he  felt 
bitterly  compassionate  towards  this  poor  creature  who  had 
become  caught  up  somehow  into  the  dizzy  triumphant  whirl 
of  the  New  Humanity.  External  facts  were  horribly 
strong  just  now;  and  faith,  except  to  one  who  had  learned 
that  Will  and  Grace  were  all  and  emotion  nothing,  was  as 


26  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

a  child  crawling  about  in  the  midst  of  some  huge  machinery : 
it  might  survive  or  it  might  not ;  but  it  required  nerves  of 
steel  to  keep  steady.  It  was  hard  to  know  where  blame 
could  be  assigned ;  yet  Percy's  faith  told  him  that  there  was 
blame  due.  In  the  ages  of  faith  a  very  inadequate  grasp 
of  religion  would  pass  muster ;  in  these  searching  days  none 
but  the  humble  and  the  pure  could  stand  the  test  for  long, 
unless  indeed  the}'  were  protected  by  a  miracle  of  ignorance. 
The  alliance  of  Psychology  and  Materialism  did  indeed 
seem,  looked  at  from  one  angle,  to  account  for  everything ;  it 
needed  a  robust  supernatural  perception  to  understand  their 
practical  inadequacy.  And  as  regards  Father  Francis's  per- 
sonal responsibility,  he  could  not  help  feeling  that  the  other 
had  allowed  ceremonial  to  play  too  great  a  part  in  his  re- 
ligion, and  prayer  too  little.  In  him  the  external  had  ab- 
sorbed the  internal. 

So  he  did  not  allow  his  sympathy  to  show  itself  in  his 
bright  eyes. 

"You  think  it  my  fault,  of  course,"  said  the  other  sharply. 

"My  dear  father,"  said  Percy,  motionless  in  his  chair,  "I 
know  it  is  your  fault.  Listen  to  me.  You  say  Christianity 
is  absurd  and  impossible.  Now,  you  know,  it  cannot  be 
that !  It  may  be  untrue — I  am  not  speaking  of  that  now, 
even  though  I  am  perfectly  certain  that  it  is  absolutely 
true — but  it  cannot  be  absurd  so  long  as  educated  and  vir- 
tuous people  continue  to  hold  it.  To  say  that  it  is  absurd 
is  simple  pride ;  it  is  to  dismiss  all  who  believe  in  it  as  not 
merely  mistaken,  but  unintelHgent  as  well " 

"Very  well,  then,"  interrupted  the  other;  "tlicn  suppose 
I  withdraw  that,  and  simply  say  that  I  do  not  believe  it  to 
be  true." 


THE  ADVENT  27 

"You  do  not  withdraw  it,"  continued  Percy  serenely ;  "you 
still  really  believe  it  to  be  absurd:  you  have  told  me  so  a 
dozen  times.  Well,  I  repeat,  that  is  pride,  and  quite  suffi- 
cient to  account  for  it  all.  It  is  the  moral  attitude  that 
matters.    There  may  be  other  things  too " 

Father  Francis  looked  up  sharply. 

"Oh !  the  old  story  !"  he  said  sneeringly. 

"If  you  tell  me  on  your  word  of  honour  that  there  is  no 
woman  in  the  case,  or  no  particular  programme  of  sin  you 
propose  to  work  out,  I  shall  believe  you.  But  it  is  an  old 
story,  as  you  say." 

"I  swear  to  you  there  is  not,"  cried  the  other. 

"Thank  God  then !"  said  Percy.  "There  are  fewer  ob- 
stacles to  a  return  of  faith." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  after  that.  Percy  had 
really  no  more  to  say.  He  had  talked  to  him  of  the  inner 
life  again  and  again,  in  which  verities  are  seen  to  be  true, 
and  acts  of  faith  are  ratified ;  he  had  urged  prayer  and  hu- 
mility till  he  was  almost  weary  of  the  names ;  and  had  been 
met  by  the  retort  that  this  was  to  advise  sheer  self-hypnot- 
ism ;  and  he  had  despaired  of  making  clear  to  one  who 
did  not  see  it  for  himself  that  while  Love  and  Faith  may 
be  called  self-hypnotism  from  one  angle,  yet  from  another 
they  are  as  much  realities  as,  for  example,  artistic  faculties, 
and  need  similar  cultivation  ;  that  they  produce  a  conviction 
that  they  are  convictions,  that  they  handle  and  taste  things 
which  when  handled  and  tasted  are  overwhelmingly  more 
real  and  objective  than  the  things  of  sense.  Evidences 
seemed  to  mean  nothing  to  this  man. 

So  he  was  silent  now,  chilled  himself  by  the  presence  of 
this  crisis,  looking  unseeingly  out  upon  the  plain,  little  old- 


28  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

world  parlour,  its  tall  window,  its  strip  of  matting,  con- 
scious chiefly  of  the  dreary  hopelessness  of  this  human 
brother  of  his  who  had  eyes  but  did  not  see,  ears  and  was 
deaf.  He  wished  he  would  say  good-bye,  and  go.  There 
was  no  more  to  be  done. 

Father  Francis,  who  had  been  sitting  in  a  lax  kind  of 
huddle,  seemed  to  know  his  thoughts,  and  sat  up  suddenly. 

"You  are  tired  of  me,"  he  said.     "I  will  go." 

"I  am  not  tired  of  you,  my  dear  father,"  said  Percy 
simply.  "I  am  only  terribly  sorry.  You  see  I  know  that  it 
is  all  true." 

The  other  looked  at  him  heavily. 

"And  I  know  that  it  is  not,"  he  said.  "It  is  very  beauti- 
ful ;  I  wish  I  could  believe  it.  I  don't  think  I  shall  be  ever 
happy  again — but — but  there  it  is." 

Percy  sighed.  He  had  told  him  so  often  that  the  heart 
is  as  divine  a  gift  as  the  mind,  and  that  to  neglect  it  in 
the  search  for  God  is  to  seek  ruin,  but  this  priest  had 
scarcely  seen  the  application  to  himself.  He  had  answered 
with  the  old  psychological  arguments  that  the  suggestions 
of  education  accounted  for  everything. 

"I  suppose  you  will  cast  me  off,"  said  the  other. 

"It  is  you  who  are  leaving  me,"  said  Percy.  "I  cannot  fol- 
low, if  you  mean  that." 

"But — but  cannot  we  be  friends.''" 

A  sudden  heat  touched  the  elder  priest's  heart. 

"Friends?"  he  said.  "Is  sentimentality  all  you  mean  by 
friendship?     What  kind  of  friends  can  we  be?" 

The  other's  face  became  suddenly  heavy. 

"I  thought  so." 

"John!"  cried  Percy.    "You  see  that,  do  you  not?    How 


THE  ADVENT  29 

can  we  pretend  anything  when  you  do  not  believe  in  God? 
For  I  do  you  the  honour  of  thinking  that  you  do  not." 

Francis  sprang  up. 

"Well — "  he  snapped.  "I  could  not  have  believed — I  am 
going." 

He  wheeled  towards  the  door. 

"John !"  said  Percy  again.  "Are  you  going  like  this  ? 
Can  you  not  shake  hands.?" 

The  other  wheeled  again,  with  heavy  anger  in  his  face. 

"Why,  you  said  you  could  not  be  friends  with  me  1" 

Percy's  mouth  opened.     Then  he  understood,  and  smiled. 

"Oh  !  that  is  all  you  mean  by  friendship,  is  it.'' — I  beg  your 
pardon.     Oh !  we  can  be  polite  to  one  another,  if  you  like." 

He  still  stood  holding  out  his  hand.  Father  Francis 
looked  at  it  a  moment,  his  lips  shook:  then  once  more  he 
turned,  and  went  out  without  a  word. 


II 


Percy  stood  motionless  until  he  heard  the  automatic  bell 
outside  tell  him  that  Father  Francis  was  really  gone,  then 
he  went  out  himself  and  turned  towards  the  long  passage 
leading  to  the  Cathedral.  As  he  passed  out  through  the 
sacristy  he  heard  far  in  front  the  murmur  of  an  organ,  and 
on  coming  through  into  the  chapel  used  as  a  parish  church 
he  perceived  that  Vespers  were  not  yet  over  in  the  great 
choir.  He  came  straight  down  the  aisle,  turned  to  the  right, 
crossed  the  centre  and  knelt  down. 

It  was  drawing  on  towards  sunset,  and  the  huge  dark 
place  was  lighted  here  and  there  by  patches  of  ruddy  Lon- 


30  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

don  light  that  lay  on  the  gorgeous  marble  and  gildings  fin- 
ished at  last  by  a  wealthy  convert.  In  front  of  him  rose 
up  the  choir,  with  a  line  of  white  surpliccd  and  furred 
canons  on  either  side,  and  the  vast  baldachino  in  the  midst, 
beneath  which  burned  the  six  lights  as  they  had  burned  day 
by  day  for  more  than  a  century ;  behind  that  again  lay 
the  high  line  of  the  apse-choir  with  the  dim,  window- 
pierced  vault  above  where  Christ  reigned  in  majesty.  He 
let  his  eyes  wander  round  for  a  few  moments  before  begin- 
ning his  deliberate  prayer,  drinking  in  the  glory  of  the 
place,  listening  to  the  thunderous  chorus,  the  peal  of  the 
organ,  and  the  thin  mellow  voice  of  the  priest.  There  on 
the  left  shone  the  refracted  glow  of  the  lamps  that  burned 
before  the  Lord  in  the  Sacrament,  on  the  right  a  dozen 
candles  winked  here  and  there  at  the  foot  of  the  gaunt 
images,  high  overhead  hung  the  gigantic  cross  with  that 
lean,  emaciated  Poor  Man  Who  called  all  who  looked  on 
Him  to  the  embraces  of  a  God. 

Then  he  hid  his  face  in  his  hands,  drew  a  couple  of  long 
breaths,  and  set  to  work. 

He  began,  as  his  custom  was  in  mental  prayer,  by  a  de- 
liberate act  of  self-exclusion  from  the  world  of  sense.  Un- 
der the  image  of  sinking  beneath  a  surface  he  forced  him- 
self downwards  and  inwards,  till  the  peal  of  the  organ,  the 
shuffle  of  footsteps,  the  rigidity  of  the  chair-back  beneath 
his  wrists — all  seemed  apart  and  external,  and  he  was  left 
a  single  person  with  a  beating  heart,  an  intellect  that  sug- 
gested image  after  image,  and  emotions  that  were  too  lan- 
guid to  stir  themselves.  Then  he  made  his  second  descent, 
renounced  all  that  he  possessed  and  was,  and  became  con- 
scious that  even  the  body  was  left  behind,  and  that  his  mind 


THE  ADVENT  31 

and  heart,  awed  by  the  Presence  in  which  they  found  them- 
selves, ching  close  and  obedient  to  the  will  which  was  their 
lord  and  protector.  He  drew  another  long  breath,  or  two, 
as  he  felt  that  Presence  surge  about  him ;  he  repeated  a  few 
mechanical  words,  and  sank  to  that  peace  which  follows  the 
relinquishment  of  thought. 

There  he  rested  for  a  while.  Far  above  him  sounded  the 
ecstatic  music,  the  cry  of  trumpets  and  the  shrilling  of  the 
flutes ;  but  they  were  as  insignificant  street-noises  to  one 
who  was  falling  asleep.  He  was  within  the  veil  of  things 
now,  beyond  the  barriers  of  sense  and  reflection,  in  that 
secret  place  to  which  he  had  learned  the  road  by  endless 
eff'ort,  in  that  strange  region  where  realities  are  evident, 
where  perceptions  go  to  and  fro  with  the  swiftness  of  light, 
where  the  swaying  will  catches  now  this,  now  that  act, 
moulds  it  and  speeds  it ;  where  all  things  meet,  where  truth 
is  known  and  handled  and  tasted,  where  God  Immanent  is 
one  with  God  Transcendent,  where  the  meaning  of  the  ex- 
ternal world  is  evident  through  its  inner  side,  and  the 
Church  and  its  mysteries  are  seen  from  within  a  haze  of 
glory. 

So  he  lay  a  few  moments,  absorbing  and  resting. 

Then  he  aroused  himself  to  consciousness  and  began  to 
speak. 

"Lord,  I  am  here,  and  Thou  art  here.  I  know  Thee. 
There  is  nothing  else  but  Thou  and  I.  ...  I  lay  this  all 
in  Thy  hands — Thy  apostate  priest,  Thy  people,  the  world, 
and  myself.  I  spread  it  before  Thee — I  spread  it  before 
Thee." 

He  paused,  poised  in  the  act,  till  all  of  which  he  thought 
lay  like  a  plain  before  a  peak. 


32  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

,  .  .  "Myself,  Lord — there  but  for  Thy  grace  should  I 
be  going,  in  darkness  and  misery.  It  is  Thou  Who  dost 
preserve  me.  Maintain  and  finish  Thy  work  within  my  soul. 
Let  me  not  falter  for  one  instant.  If  Thou  withdraw  Thy 
hand  I  fall  into  utter  nothingness." 

So  his  soul  stood  a  moment,  with  outstretched  appealing 
hands,  helpless  and  confident.  Then  the  will  flickered  in 
self-consciousness,  and  he  repeated  acts  of  faith,  hope  and 
love  to  steady  it.  Then  he  drew  another  long  breath,  feel- 
ing the  Presence  tingle  and  shake  about  him,  and  began 
again. 

"Lord;  look  on  Thy  people.  Many  are  falling  from 
Thee.  A^^  in  oeternum  irascaris  nobis.  Ne  in  (Eternum  iras- 
caris  nobis.  ...  I  unite  myself  with  all  saints  and  angels 
and  Mary  Queen  of  Heaven ;  look  on  them  and  me,  and  hear 
us.  Emitte  lucem  tuam  et  veritatem  tuam.  Thy  light  and 
Thy  truth !  Lay  not  on  us  heavier  burdens  than  we  can 
bear.     Lord,  why  dost  Thou  not  speak !" 

He  writhed  himself  forward  in  a  passion  of  expectant  de- 
sire, hearing  his  muscles  crack  in  the  effort.  Once  more 
he  relaxed  himself ;  and  the  swift  play  of  wordless  acts  be- 
gan which  he  knew  to  be  the  very  heart  of  prayer.  The 
eyes  of  his  soul  flew  hither  and  thither,  from  Calvary  to 
heaven  and  back  again  to  the  tossing  troubled  earth.  He 
saw  Christ  dying  of  desolation  while  the  earth  rocked  and 
groaned ;  Christ  reigning  as  a  priest  upon  His  Throne  in 
robes  of  light,  Christ  patient  and  inexorably  silent  within 
the  Sacramental  species ;  and  to  each  in  turn  he  directed 
the  eyes  of  the  Eternal  Father.  .    .    . 

Then  he  waited  for  communications,  and  they  came,  so 
soft    and    delicate,    passing    like    shadows,    that    his    will 


THE  ADVENT  33 

sweated  blood  and  tears  in  the  effort  to  catch  and  fix  them 
and  correspond.  .    .    . 

He  saw  the  Body  Mystical  in  its  agony,  strained  over  the 
world  as  on  a  cross,  silent  with  pain ;  he  saw  this  and  that 
nerve  wrenched  and  twisted,  till  pain  presented  it  to  him- 
self as  under  the  guise  of  flashes  of  colour ;  he  saw  the  life- 
blood  drop  by  drop  run  down  from  His  head  and  hands  and 
feet.  The  world  was  gathered  mocking  and  good-humoured 
beneath.  "He  saved  others:  Himself  He  cannot  save.  .  .  . 
Let  Christ  come  down  from  the  Cross  and  we  will  believe." 
Far  away  behind  bushes  and  in  holes  of  the  ground  the 
friends  of  Jesus  peeped  and  sobbed;  Mary  herself  was 
silent,  pierced  by  seven  swords ;  the  disciple  whom  He  loved 
had  no  words  of  comfort. 

He  saw,  too,  how  no  word  would  be  spoken  from  heaven ; 
the  angels  themselves  were  bidden  to  put  sword  into  sheath, 
and  wait  on  the  eternal  patience  of  God,  for  the  agony  was 
hardly  yet  begun ;  there  were  a  thousand  horrors  yet  be- 
fore the  end  could  come,  that  final  sum  of  crucifixion.  .  .  . 
He  must  wait  and  watch,  content  to  stand  there  and  do 
nothing;  and  the  Resurrection  must  seem  to  him  no  more 
than  a  dreamed-of  hope.  There  was  the  Sabbath  yet  to 
come,  while  the  Body  Mystical  must  lie  in  its  sepulchre  cut 
off  from  light,  and  even  the  dignity  of  the  Cross  must  be 
withdrawn  and  the  knowledge  that  Jesus  lived.  That  inner 
world,  to  which  by  long  effort  he  had  learned  the  way,  was 
all  alight  with  agony ;  it  was  bitter  as  brine,  it  was  of  that 
pale  luminosity  that  is  the  utmost  product  of  pain,  it 
hummed  in  his  ears  with  a  note  that  rose  to  a  scream  .  .  . 
it  pressed  upon  him,  penetrated  him,  stretched  him  as  on  a 
rack.  .    .    .  And  with  that  his  will  grew  sick  and  nerveless. 


34.  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"Lord !    I  cannot  bear  it !"  he  moaned.  .   .   . 

In  an  instant  he  was  back  again,  drawing  long  breaths 
of  misery.  He  passed  his  tongue  over  his  hps,  and  opened 
his  eyes  on  the  darkening  apse  before  him.  The  organ  was 
silent  now,  and  the  choir  was  gone,  and  the  lights  out.  The 
sunset  colour,  too,  had  faded  from  the  walls,  and  grim  cold 
faces  looked  down  on  him  from  wall  and  vault.  He  was 
back  again  on  the  surface  of  life;  the  vision  had  melted; 
he  scarcely  knew  what  it  was  that  he  had  seen. 

But  he  must  gather  up  the  threads,  and  by  sheer  effort  ab- 
sorb them.  He  must  pay  his  duty,  too,  to  the  Lord  that 
gave  Himself  to  the  senses  as  well  as  to  the  inner  spirit.  So 
he  rose,  stiff  and  constrained,  and  passed  across  to  the 
Chapel  of  the  Holy  Sacrament. 

As  he  came  out  from  the  block  of  chairs,  very  upright  and 
tall,  with  his  biretta  once  more  on  his  white  hair,  he  saw  an 
old  woman  watching  him  very  closely.  He  hesitated  an  in- 
stant, wondering  whether  she  were  a  penitent,  and  as  he 
hesitated  she  made  a  movement  towards  him. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  she  began. 

She  was  not  a  Catholic  then.    He  lifted  his  biretta. 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you?"  he  asked. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  were  you  at  Brighton,  at 
the  accident  two  months  ago.^^" 

"I  was." 

"Ah!  I  thought  so:  my  daughter-in-law  saw  you 
then." 

Percy  had  a  spasm  of  impatience :  he  was  a  little  tired  of 
being  identified  by  his  white  hair  and  young  face. 

"Were  you  there,  madam  ?" 

She  looked  at  him  doubtfully  and  curiously,  moving  her 


THE  ADVENT  35 

old  eyes  up  and  down  his  figure.  Then  she  recollected 
herself, 

"No,  sir ;  it  was  my  daughter-in-law — I  beg  your  pardon, 
sir,  but " 

"Well?"  asked  Percy,  trying  to  keep  the  impatience  out 
of  his  voice. 

"Are  you  the  Archbishop,  sir?" 

The  priest  smiled,   showing  his  white  teeth. 

"No,  madam;  I  am  just  a  poor  priest.  Dr.  Cholmondeley 
is  Archbishop.     I  am  Father  Percy  Franklin." 

She  said  nothing,  but  still  looking  at  him  made  a  little 
old-world  movement  of  a  bow ;  and  Percy  passed  on  to  the 
dim,  splendid  chapel  to  pay  his  devotions. 


Ill 


There  was  great  talk  that  night  at  dinner  among  the 
priests  as  to  the  extraordinary  spread  of  Freemasonry.  It 
had  been  going  on  for  many  years  now,  and  Catholics  per- 
fectly recognised  its  dangers,  for.  the  profession  of 
Masonry  had  been  for  some  centuries  rendered  incompatible 
with  religion  through  the  Church's  unswerving  condemna- 
tion of  it.  A  man  must  choose  between  that  and  his  faith. 
Things  had  developed  extraordinarily  during  the  last  cen- 
tur3\  First  there  had  been  the  organised  assault  upon  the 
Church  in  France ;  and  what  Catholics  had  always  suspected 
then  became  a  certainty  in  the  revelations  of  1918,  when 
P.  Gerome,  the  Dominican  and  ex-Mason,  had  made  his 
disclosures  with  regard  to  the  INIark-Masons.  It  had  be- 
come evident  then  that  Catholics  had  been  right,  and  that 


36  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

Masonry,  In  its  higher  grades  at  least,  had  been  responsible 
throughout  the  world  for  the  strange  movement  against  re- 
ligion. But  he  had  died  in  his  bed,  and  the  public  had 
been  impressed  by  that  fact.  Then  came  the  splendid  dona- 
tions in  France  and  Italy — to  hospitals,  orphanages,  and 
the  like ;  and  once  more  suspicion  began  to  disappear. 
After  all,  it  seemed — and  continued  to  seem — for  seventy 
years  and  more  that  Masonry  was  nothing  more  than  a  vast 
philanthropical  society.  Now  once  more  men  had  their 
doubts. 

"I  hear  that  Felsenburgh  is  a  Mason,"  observed  Mon- 
signor  Macintosh,  the  Cathedral  Administrator.  "A 
Grand-Master  or  something." 

"But  who  is  Felsenburgh?"  put  In  a  young  priest. 

Monsignor  pursed  his  lips  and  shook  his  head.  He  was 
one  of  those  humble  persons  as  proud  of  ignorance  as  others 
of  knowledge.  He  boasted  that  he  never  read  the  papers 
nor  any  book  except  those  that  had  received  the  imprimatur; 
It  was  a  priest's  business,  he  often  remarked,  to  preserve  the 
faith,  not  to  acquire  worldly  knowledge.  Percy  had  oc- 
casionally rather  envied  his  point  of  view. 

"He's  a  mystery,"  said  another  priest.  Father  Blackmore ; 
"but  he  seems  to  be  causing  great  excitement.  They  were 
selling  his  'Life'  to-day  on  the  Embankment." 

"I  met  an  American  senator,"  put  in  Percy,  "three  days 
ago,  who  told  me  that  even  there  they  know  nothing  of 
him,  except  his  extraordinary  eloquence.  He  only  appeared 
last  year,  and  seems  to  have  carried  everything  before  him 
by  quite  unusual  methods.  He  is  a  great  linguist,  too. 
That  is  why  they  took  him  to  Irkutsk." 

"Well,  the  Masons — "  went  on  Monsignor.     "It  is  very 


THE  ADVENT  37 

serious.  In  the  last  month  four  of  my  penitents  have  left 
me  because  of  it." 

"Their  inclusion  of  women  was  their  master-stroke," 
growled  Father  Blackmore,  helping  himself  to  claret. 

"It  Is  extraordinary  that  they  hesitated  so  long  about 
that,"  observed  Percy. 

A  couple  of  the  others  added  their  evidence.  It  appeared 
that  they,  too,  had  lost  penitents  lately  through  the  spread 
of  Masonry.  It  was  rumoured  that  a  Pastoral  was  a-pre- 
paring  upstairs  on  the  subject. 

Monsignor  shook  his  head  ominously. 

"More  is  wanted  than  that,"  he  said. 

Percy  pointed  out  that  the  Church  had  said  her  last  word 
several  centuries  ago.  She  had  laid  her  excommunication 
on  all  members  of  secret  societies,  and  there  was  really  no 
more  that  she  could  do. 

"Except  bring  it  before  her  children  again  and  again," 
put  in  Monsignor.    "I  shall  preach  on  it  next  Sunday." 

Percy  dotted  down  a  note  when  he  reached  his  room,  de- 
termining to  say  another  word  or  two  on  the  subject  to 
the  Cardinal-Protector.  He  had  mentioned  Freemasonry 
often  before,  but  it  seemed  time  for  another  remark.  Then 
he  opened  his  letters,  first  turning  to  one  which  he  recog- 
nised as  from  the  Cardinal. 

It  seemed  a  curious  coincidence,  as  he  read  a  series  of 
questions  that  Cardinal  Martin's  letter  contained,  that  one 
of  them  should  be  on  this  very  subject.     It  ran  as  follows: 

"What  of  Masonry  ?  Felsenburgh  is  said  to  be  one. 
Gather  all  the  gossip  you  can  about  him.     Send  any  Eng- 


38  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

lish  or  American  biographies  of  him.     Are  you  still  losing 
Catholics  through  Masonry?" 


He  ran  his  eyes  down  the  rest  of  the  questions.  They 
chiefly  referred  to  previous  remarks  of  his  own,  but  twice, 
even  in  them,  Felsenburgh's  name  appeared. 

He  laid  the  paper  down  and  considered  a  little. 

It  was  very  curious,  he  thought,  how  this  man's  name  was 
in  every  one's  mouth,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  so  little  was 
known  about  him.  He  had  bought  in  the  streets,  out  of 
curiosity,  three  photographs  that  professed  to  represent  this 
strange  person,  and  though  one  of  them  might  be  genuine 
they  all  three  could  not  be.  He  drew  them  out  of  a  pigeon- 
hole, and  spread  them  before  him. 

One  represented  a  fierce,  bearded  creature  like  a  Cossack, 
with  round  staring  eyes.  No ;  intrinsic  evidence  condemned 
this:  it  was  exactly  how  a  coarse  imagination  would  have 
pictured  a  man  who  seemed  to  be  having  a  great  influence 
in  the  East. 

The  second  showed  a  fat  face  with  little  eyes  and  a  chin- 
beard.  That  might  conceivably  be  genuine:  he  turned  it 
over  and  saw  the  name  of  a  New  York  firm  on  the  back. 
Then  he  turned  to  the  third.  This  presented  a  long,  clean- 
shaven face  with  pince-nez,  undeniably  clever,  but  scarcely 
strong:  and  Felsenburgh  was  obviously  a  strong  man. 

Percy  inclined  to  think  the  second  was  the  most  probable ; 
but  they  were  all  unconvincing;  and  he  shuffled  them  care- 
lessly together  and  replaced  them. 

Then  he  put  his  elbows  on  the  table,  and  began  to  think. 

He  tried  to  remember  what  Mr.  Varhaus,  the  American 
senator,  had  told  him  of  Felsenburgh ;  yet  it  did  not  seem 


THE  ADVENT  39 

sufficient  to  account  for  the  facts.  Felsenburgh,  it  seemed, 
had  employed  none  of  those  methods  common  in  modem 
politics.  He  controlled  no  newspapers,  vituperated  no- 
body, championed  nobody :  he  had  no  picked  underlings ; 
he  used  no  bribes ;  there  were  no  monstrous  crimes  alleged 
against  him.  It  seemed  rather  as  if  his  originality  lay  in 
his  clean  hands  and  his  stainless  past — that,  and  his  mag- 
netic character.  He  was  the  kind  of  figure  that  belonged 
rather  to  the  age  of  chivalry :  a  pure,  clean,  compelling  per- 
sonality, like  a  radiant  child.  He  had  taken  people  by 
surprise,  then,  rising  out  of  the  heaving  dun-coloured 
waters  of  American  socialism  like  a  vision — from  those 
waters  so  fiercely  restrained  from  breaking  into  storm  ever 
since  the  extraordinary  social  revolution  under  Mr.  Hearst's 
disciples,  a  century  ago.  That  had  been  the  end  of 
plutocracy;  the  famous  old  laws  of  1914  had  burst  some 
of  the  stinking  bubbles  of  the  time ;  and  the  enactments  of 
1916  and  1917  had  prevented  their  forming  again  in  any- 
thing like  their  previous  force.  It  had  been  the  salvation 
of  America,  undoubtedly,  even  if  that  salvation  were  of  a 
dreary  and  uninspiring  description ;  and  now  out  of  the 
flat  socialistic  level  had  arisen  this  romantic  figure  utterly 
unlike  any  that  had  preceded  it.  .  .  .  So  the  senator  had 
hinted.  ...  It  was  too  complicated  for  Percy  just  now, 
and  he  gave  it  up. 

It  was  a  weary  world,  he  told  himself,  turning  his  eyes 
homewards.  Everything  seemed  so  hopeless  and  ineffective. 
He  tried  not  to  reflect  on  his  fellow-priests,  but  for  the 
fiftieth  time  he  could  not  help  seeing  that  they  were  not  the 
men  for  the  present  situation.  It  was  not  that  he  preferred 
himself;  he  knew  perfectly  well  that  he,  too,  was  fully  as 


40  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

Incompetent :  had  he  not  proved  to  be  so  with  poor  Father 
Francis,  and  scores  of  others  who  had  clutched  at  him  in 
their  agony  during  the  last  ten  years?  Even  the  Arch- 
bishop, holy  man  as  he  was,  with  all  his  childlike  faith — was 
that  the  man  to  lead  English  Catholics  and  confound  their 
enemies?  There  seemed  no  giants  on  the  earth  in  these 
days.  What  in  the  world  was  to  be  done?  He  buried  his 
face  in  his  hands.  .    .    . 

Yes ;  what  was  wanted  was  a  new  Order  in  the  Church ;  the 
old  ones  were  rule-bound  through  no  fault  of  their  own. 
An  Order  was  wanted  without  habit  or  tonsure,  without 
traditions  or  customs,  an  Order  with  nothing  but  entire 
and  whole-hearted  devotion,  without  pride  even  in  their 
most  sacred  privileges,  without  a  past  history  in  which  they 
might  take  complacent  refuge.  They  must  be  franc- 
t'vreurs  of  Christ's  Army ;  like  the  Jesuits,  but  without  their 
fatal  reputation,  which,  again,  was  no  fault  of  their  own. 
.  .  .  But  there  must  be  a  Founder — Who,  in  God's  Name? 
— a  Founder  nudus  sequens  Christum  nudum.  .  .  .  Yes — 
Franc-tireurs — priests,  bishops,  laymen  and  women — with 
the  three  vows  of  course,  and  a  special  clause  forbidding 
utterly  and  for  ever  their  ownership  of  corporate  wealth. — 
Every  gift  received  must  be  handed  to  the  bishop  of  the 
diocese  in  which  it  was  given,  who  must  provide  them  him- 
self with  necessaries  of  life  and  travel.  Oh ! — what  could 
they  not  do?  .   .   .  He  was  off  in  a  rhapsody. 

Presently  he  recovered,  and  called  himself  a  fool.  Was 
not  that  scheme  as  old  as  the  eternal  hills,  and  as  useless  for 
practical  purposes?  Why,  it  had  been  the  dream  of  every 
zealous  man  since  the  First  Year  of  Salvation  that  such 
an  Order  should  be  founded!    .    .    .  Pie  was  a  fool.   .    .    . 


THE  ADVENT  41 

Then  once  more  he  began  to  think  of  it  all  over 
again. 

Surely  it  was  this  which  was  wanted  against  the  Masons ; 
and  women,  too. — Had  not  scheme  after  scheme  broken 
down  because  men  had  forgotten  the  power  of  women?  It 
was  that  lack  that  had  ruined  Napoleon:  he  had  trusted 
Josephine,  and  she  had  failed  him;  so  he  had  trusted  no 
other  woman.  In  the  Catholic  Church,  too,  woman  had 
been  given  no  active  work  but  either  menial  or  connected 
with  education:  and  was  there  not  room  for  other  activi- 
ties than  those.''  Well,  it  was  useless  to  think  of  it.  It  was 
not  his  affair.  If  Papa  Angelicus  who  now  reigned  in 
Rome  had  not  thought  of  it,  why  should  a  foolish,  conceited 
priest  in  Westminster  set  himself  up  to  do  so? 

So  he  beat  himself  on  the  breast  once  more,  and  took  up 
his  office-book. 

He  finished  in  half  an  hour,  and  again  sat  thinking;  but 
this  time  it  was  of  poor  Father  Francis.  He  wondered  what 
he  was  doing  now;  whether  he  had  taken  off  the  Roman 
collar  of  Christ's  familiar  slaves?  The  poor  devil!  And 
how  far  was  he,  Percy  Franklin,  responsible? 

When  a  tap  came  at  his  door  presently,  and  Father 
Blackmore  looked  in  for  a  talk  before  going  to  bed,  Percy 
told  him  what  had  happened. 

Father  Blackmore  removed  his  pipe  and  sighed  deliber- 
ately. 

"I  knew  it  was  coming,"  he  said.     "Well,  well." 

"He  has  been  honest  enough,"  explained  Percy.  "He  told 
me  eight  months  ago  he  was  in  trouble." 

Father  Blackmore  drew  upon  his  pipe  thoughtfully. 

"Father  Franklin,"  he  said,  "things  are  really  very  serious. 


42  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

There  is  the  same  story  everywhere.  What  In  the  world  is 
happening?" 

Percy  paused  before  answering. 

"I  think  these  things  go  in  waves,"  he  said. 

"Waves,  do  you  think.''"  said  the  other. 

"What  else.?" 

Father  Blackmore  looked  at  him  intently. 

"It  is  more  Hke  a  dead  calm,  it  seems  ib  me,"  he  said. 
"Have  you  ever  been  in  a  typhoon.''" 

Percy  shook  his  head. 

"Well,"  went  on  the  other,  "the  most  ominous  thing  is 
the  calm.  The  sea  is  like  oil;  you  feel  half-dead:  you 
can  do  nothing.     Then  comes  the  storm." 

Percy  looked  at  him,  interested.  He  had  not  seen  this 
mood  in  the  priest  before. 

"Before  every  great  crash  there  comes  this  calm.  It  is 
always  so  in  history.  It  was  so  before  the  Eastern  War; 
it  was  so  before  the  French  Revolution.  It  was  so  before 
the  Reformation.  There  is  a  kind  of  oily  heaving;  and 
everything  is  languid.  So  everything  has  been  in  America, 
too,  for  over  eighty  years.  .  .  .  Father  Franklin,  I  think 
something  is  going  to  happen." 

"Tell  me,"  said  Percy,  leaning  forward. 

"Well,  I  saw  Templcton  a  week  before  he  died,  and  he 
put  the  idea  in  my  head.  .  ,  .  Look  here,  father.  It  may 
be  this  Eastern  affair  that  is  coming  on  us ;  but  somehow 
I  don't  think  it  is.  It  is  in  religion  that  something  is 
going  to  happen.  At  least,  so  I  think.  .  .  .  Father,  who  in 
God's  name  is  Fclsenburgh .?" 

Percy  was  so  startled  at  the  sudden  introduction  of  this 
name  again,  that  he  stared  a  moment  without  speaking. 


THE  ADVENT  43 

Outside,  the  summer  night  was  very  still.  There  was 
a  faint  vibration  now  and  again  from  the  underground 
track  that  ran  twenty  yards  from  the  house  where  they 
sat ;  but  the  streets  were  quiet  enough  round  the  Cathedral. 
Once  a  hoot  rang  far  away,  as  if  some  ominous  bird  of 
passage  were  crossing  between  London  and  the  stars,  and 
once  the  cry  of  a  woman  sounded  thin  and  shrill  from  the 
direction  of  the  river.  For  the  rest  there  was  no  more  than 
the  solemn,  subdued  hum  that  never  ceased  now  night  or 
day. 

"Yes ;  Felsenburgh,"  said  Father  Blackmore  once  more. 
"I  cannot  get  that  man  out  of  my  head.  And  yet,  what 
do  I  know  of  him  ?    What  does  any  one  know  of  him  ?" 

Percy  licked  his  lips  to  answer,  and  drew  a  breath  to  still 
the  beating  of  his  heart.  He  could  not  imagine  why  he 
felt  excited.  After  all,  who  was  old  Blackmore  to  frighten 
him.'*     But  old  Blackmore  went  on  before  he  could  speak. 

"See  how  people  are  leaving  the  Church!  The  War- 
graves,  the  Hendersons,  Sir  James  Bartlet,  Lady  Magnier^ 
and  then  all  the  priests.  Now  they're  not  all  knaves — I 
wish  they  were ;  it  would  be  so  much  easier  to  talk  of  it. 
But  Sir  James  Bartlet,  last  month !  Now,  there's  a  man 
who  has  spent  half  his  fortune  on  the  Church,  and  he 
doesn't  resent  it  even  now.  He  says  that  any  religion  is 
better  than  none,  but  that,  for  himself,  he  just  can't  be- 
lieve any  longer.  Now  what  does  all  that  mean?  .  .  . 
I  tell  you  something  is  going  to  happen.  God  knows  what ! 
And  I  can't  get  Felsenburgh  out  of  my  head.  .  .  .  Father 
Franklin " 

"Yes?" 

"Have  you  noticed  how  few  great  men  we've  got?     It's 


44  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

not  like  fifty  years  ago,  or  even  thirty.  Then  there  were 
Mason,  Sclborne,  Sherbrook,  and  half-a-dozen  others. 
There  was  Brightman,  too,  as  Archbishop :  and  now  !  Then 
the  Communists,  too.  Braithwaite  is  dead  fifteen  years. 
Certainly  he  was  big  enough ;  but  he  was  always  speaking 
of  the  future,  not  of  the  present ;  and  tell  me  what  big  man 
they  have  had  since  then !  And  now  there's  this  new  man, 
whom  no  one  knows,  who  came  forward  in  America  a  few 
months  ago,  and  whose  name  is  in  every  one's  mouth.  Very 
well,  then !" 

Percy  knitted  his  forehead. 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  understand,"  he  said. 

Father  Blackmore  knocked  his  pipe  out  before  answering. 

"Well,  this,"  he  said,  standing  up.  "I  can't  help  thinking 
Felsenburgh  is  going  to  do  something.  I  don't  know  what ; 
it  may  be  for  us  or  against  us.  But  he  is  a  Mason,  remem- 
ber that.  .  .  .  Well,  well;  I  dare  say  I'm  an  old  fool. 
Good-night." 

"One  mom^t,  father,"  said  Percy  slowly.  "Do  you 
mean — ?  Good  Lord !  What  do  you  mean.'"'  He  stopped, 
looking  at  the  other. 

The  old  priest  stared  back  under  his  bushy  eyebrows ;  it 
seemed  to  Percy  as  if  he,  too,  were  afraid  of  something  in 
spite  of  his  easy  talk ;  but  he  made  no  sign. 

Percy  stood  perfectly  still  a  moment  when  the  door  was 
shut.    Then  he  moved  across  to  his  prie-dieu. 


CHAPTER  III 


Old  Mrs.  Brand  and  Mabel  were  seated  at  a  window  of 
the  new  Admiralty  Offices  in  Trafalgar  Square  to  see  Oliver 
deliver  his  speech  on  the  fiftieth  anniversary  of  the  passing 
of  the  Poor  Laws  Reform. 

It  was  an  inspiriting  sight,  this  bright  June  morning,  to 
see  the  crowds  gathering  round  Braithwaite's  statue.  That 
politician,  dead  fifteen  years  before,  was  represented  in  his 
famous  attitude,  with  arms  outstretched  and  down  dropped, 
his  head  up  and  one  foot  slightly  advanced,  and  to-day 
was  decked,  as  was  becoming  more  and  more  usual  on  such 
occasions,  in  his  Masonic  insignia.  It  was  he  who  had  given 
immense  impetus  to  that  secret  movement  by  his  declaration 
in  the  House  that  the  key  of  future  progress  and  brother- 
hood of  nations  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Order.  It  was 
through  this  alone  that  the  false  unity  of  the  Church  with 
its  fantastic  spiritual  fraternity  could  be  counteracted. 
St.  Paul  had  been  right,  he  declared,  in  his  desire  to  break 
down  the  partition-walls  between  nations,  and  wrong  only 
in  his  exaltation  of  Jesus  Christ.  Thus  he  had  preluded  his 
speech  on  the  Poor  Law  question,  pointing  to  the  true 
charity  that  existed  among  Masons  apart  from  religious 
motive,  and  appealing  to  the  famous  benefactions  on  the 
Continent ;  and  in  the  enthusiasm  of  the  Bill's  success  the 
Order  had  received  a  great  accession  of  members. 

Old  Mrs.  Brand  was  in  her  best  to-day,  and  looked  out 


46  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

with  considerable  excitement  at  the  huge  tlirong  gathered 
to  hear  her  son  speak.  A  pktform  was  erected  round  the 
bronze  statue  at  such  a  height  that  the  statesman  appeared 
to  be  one  of  the  speakers,  though  at  a  shghtly  higher 
elevation,  and  this  platform  was  hung  with  roses,  sur- 
mounted by  a  sounding-board,  and  set  with  a  chair  and 
table. 

The  whole  square  round  about  was  paved  with  heads  and 
resonant  with  sound,  the  murmurs  of  thousands  of  voices, 
overpowered  now  and  again  by  the  crash  of  brass  and  thun- 
der of  drums  as  the  Benefit  Societies  and  democratic 
Guilds,  each  headed  by  a  banner,  deployed  from  North, 
South,  East  and  West,  and  converged  towards  the  wide 
railed  space  about  the  platform  where  room  was  reserved 
for  them.  The  windows  on  every  side  were  packed  with 
faces ;  tall  stands  were  erected  along  the  front  of  the  Na- 
tional Gallery  and  St.  Martin's  Church,  garden-beds  of 
colour  behind  the  mute,  white  statues  that  faced  outwards 
round  the  square,  from  Braithwaite  in  front,  past  the  Vic- 
torians— John  Davidson,  John  Bums,  and  the  rest — round 
to  Hampden  and  de  Montfort  towards  the  north.  The  old 
column  was  gone,  with  its  lions.  Nelson  had  not  been 
found  advantageous  to  the  Entente  Cordiale,  nor  the  lions 
to  the  new  art ;  and  in  their  place  stretched  a  wide  pavement 
broken  by  slopes  of  steps  that  led  up  to  the  National  Gal- 
lery. Overhead  the  roofs  showed  crowded  friezes  of  heads 
against  the  blue  summer  sky.  Not  less  than  one  hundred 
thousand  persons,  it  was  estimated  in  the  evening  papers, 
were  collected  within  sight  and  sound  of  the  platform  by 
noon. 

As  the  clocks  began  to  tell  the  hour,  two  figures  appeared 


THE  ADVENT  47 

from  behind  the  statue  and  came  forward,  and,  in  an  in- 
stant, the  murmurs  of  talk  rose  into  cheering. 

Old  Lord  Pemberton  came  first,  a  grey-haired,  upright 
man,  whose  father  had  been  active  in  denouncing  the  House 
of  which  he  was  a  member  on  the  occasion  of  its  fall  over 
seventy  years  ago,  and  his  son  had  succeeded  him  worthily. 
This  man  was  now  a  member  of  the  Government,  and  sat 
for  Manchester  (3)  ;  and  it  was  he  who  was  to  be  chairman 
on  this  auspicious  occasion.  Behind  him  came  Oliver,  bare- 
headed and  spruce,  and  even  at  that  distance  his  mother 
and  wife  could  see  his  brisk  movement,  his  sudden  smile  and 
nod  as  his  name  emerged  from  the  storm  of  sound  that 
surged  round  the  platform.  Lord  Pemberton  came  for- 
ward, lifted  his  hand  and  made  a  signal;  and  in  a  moment 
the  thin  cheering  died  under  the  sudden  roll  of  drums  be- 
neath that  preluded  the  Masonic  Hymn. 

There  was  no  doubt  that  these  Londoners  could  sing.  It 
was  as  if  a  giant  voice  hummed  the  sonorous  melody,  ris- 
ing to  enthusiasm  till  the  music  of  massed  bands  followed 
it  as  a  flag  follows  a  flag-stick.  The  hymn  was  one  com- 
posed ten  years  before,  and  all  England  was  familiar  with 
it.  Old  Mrs.  Bland  lifted  the  printed  paper  mechanically 
to  her  eyes,  and  saw  the  words  that  she  knew  so  well : 

"The  Lord  that  dwells  in  earth  and  sea"  .   .   . 

She  glanced  down  the  verses,  that  from  the  Humanitarian 
point  of  view  had  been  composed  with  both  skill  and  ardour. 
They  had  a  religious  ring ;  the  unintelligent  Christian  could 
sing  them  without  a  qualm ;  yet  their  sense  was  plain  enough 
— the  old  human  creed  that  man  was  all.     Even  Christ's 


48  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

words  themselves  were  quoted.  The  kingdom  of  God,  it 
was  said,  lay  within  the  human  heart,  and  the  greatest  of 
all  graces  was  Charity. 

She  glanced  at  Mabel,  and  saw  that  the  girl  was  singing 
with  all  her  might,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  her  husband's 
dark  figure  a  hundred  yards  away,  and  her  soul  pouring 
through  them.  So  the  mother,  too,  began  to  move  her 
lips  in  chorus  with  that  vast  volume  of  sound. 

As  the  hymn  died  away,  and  before  the  cheering  could 
begin  again,  old  Lord  Pembcrton  was  standing  forward 
on  the  edge  of  the  platform,  and  his  thin,  metallic  voice 
piped  a  sentence  or  two  across  the  tinkling  splash  of  the 
fountains  behind  him.  Then  he  stepped  back,  and  Oliver 
came  forward. 

It  was  too  far  for  the  two  to  hear  what  was  said,  but 
Mabel  slipped  a  paper,  smiling  tremulously,  into  the  old 
lady's  hand,  and  herself  bent  forward  to  listen. 

Old  Mrs.  Brand  looked  at  that,  too,  knowing  that  it  was 
an  analysis  of  her  son's  speech,  and  aware  that  she  would 
not  be  able  to  hear  his  words. 

There  was  an  exordium  first,  congratulating  all  who  were 
present  to  do  honour  to  the  great  man  who  presided  from 
his  pedestal  on  the  occasion  of  this  great  anniversary. 
Then  there  came  a  retrospect,  comparing  the  old  state  of 
England  with  the  present.  Fifty  years  ago,  the  speaker 
said,  poverty  was  still  a  disgrace,  now  it  was  so  no  longer. 
It  was  in  the  causes  that  led  to  poverty  that  the  disgrace 
or  the  merit  lay.  Who  would  not  honour  a  man  worn  out 
in  the  service  of  his  country,  or  overcome  at  last  b}'  circum- 
stances against  which  his  efforts  could  not  prevail.''  .    .    . 


THE  ADVENT  49 

He  enumerated  the  reforms  passed  fifty  years  before  on 
this  very  day,  by  which  the  nation  once  and  for  all  declared 
the  glory  of  poverty  and  man's  sympathy  with  the  un- 
fortunate. 

So  he  had  told  them  he  was  to  sing  the  praise  of  patient 
poverty  and  its  reward,  and  that,  he  supposed,  together 
with  a  few  periods  on  the  reform  of  the  prison  laws,  would 
form  the  first  half  of  his  speech. 

The  second  part  was  to  be  a  panegyric  of  Braithwaite, 
treating  him  as  the  Precursor  of  a  movement  that  even  now 
had  begun. 

Old  Mrs.  Brand  leaned  back  in  her  seat,  and  looked  about 
her. 

The  window  where  they  sat  had  been  reserved  for  them ; 
two  arm-chairs  filled  the  space,  but  immediately  behind  there 
were  others,  standing  very  silent  now,  craning  forward, 
watching,  too,  with  parted  lips :  a  couple  of  women  with  an 
old  man  directly  behind,  and  other  faces  visible  again  be- 
hind them.  Their  obvious  absorption  made  the  old  lady 
a  little  ashamed  of  her  distraction,  and  she  turned  reso- 
lutely once  more  to  the  square. 

Ah !  he  was  working  up  now  to  his  panegyric !  The  tiny 
dark  figure  was  back,  a  yard  nearer  the  statue,  and  as  she 
looked,  his  hand  went  up  and  he  wheeled,  pointing,  as  a 
murmur  of  applause  drowned  for  an  instant  the  minute, 
resonant  voice.  Then  again  he  was  forward,  half  crouch- 
ing— for  he  was  a  born  actor — and  a  storm  of  laughter 
rippled  round  the  throng  of  heads.  She  heard  an  indrawn 
hiss  behind  her  chair,  and  the  next  instant  an  exclamation 
from  Mabel.  .    .    .  What  was  that.? 

There  was  a  sharp  crack,  and  the  tiny  gesticulating  fig- 


60  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

ure  staggered  back  a  step.  The  old  man  at  the  table  was 
up  in  a  moment,  and  simultaneously  a  violent  commotion 
bubbled  and  heaved  like  water  about  a  rock  at  a  point  in 
the  crowd  immediately  outside  the  railed  space  where  the 
bands  were  massed,  and  directly  opposite  the  front  of  the 
platform. 

Mrs.  Brand,  bewildered  and  dazed,  found  herself  standing 
up,  clutching  the  window  rail,  while  the  girl  gripped  her, 
crying  out  something  she  could  not  understand.  A  great 
roaring  filled  the  square,  the  heads  tossed  this  way  and  that, 
like  corn  under  a  squall  of  wind.  Then  Oliver  was  forward 
again,  pointing  and  crying  out,  for  she  could  see  his  ges- 
tures ;  and  she  sank  back  quickly,  the  blood  racing  through 
her  old  veins,  and  her  heart  hammering  at  the  base  of  her 
throat. 

"My  dear,  my  dear,  what  is  it?"  she  sobbed. 

But  Mabel  was  up,  too,  staring  out  at  her  husband ;  and 
a  quick  babble  of  talk  and  exclamations  from  behind  made 
itself  audible  in  spite  of  the  roaring  tumult  of  the  square. 


II 


Oliver  told  them  the  explanation  of  the  whole  affair  that 
evening  at  home,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  with  one  arm 
bandaged  and  in  a  sling. 

They  had  not  been  able  to  get  near  him  at  the  time; 
the  excitement  in  the  square  had  been  too  fierce ;  but  a  mes- 
senger had  come  to  his  wife  with  the  news  that  her  husband 
was  only  slightly  wounded,  and  was  in  the  hands  of  the 
doctors. 


THE  ADVENT  61 

"He  was  a  Catholic,"  explained  the  drawn-faced  Oliver. 
"He  must  have  come  ready,  for  his  repeater  was  found 
loaded.     Well,  there  was  no  chance  for  a  priest  this  time." 

Mabel  nodded  slowly:  she  had  read  of  the  man's  fate  on 
the  placards. 

"He  was  killed — trampled  and  strangled  instantly,"  said 
Oliver.  "I  did  what  I  could:  you  saw  me.  But — well,  I 
dare  say  it  was  more  merciful." 

"But  you  did  what  you  could,  my  dear?"  said  the  old 
lady,  anxiously,  from  her  comer. 

"I  called  out  to  them,  mother,  but  they  wouldn't  hear  me." 

Mabel  leaned  forward 

"Oliver,  I  know  this  sounds  stupid  of  me ;  but — but  I  wish 
they  had  not  killed  him." 

Oliver  smiled  at  her.    He  knew  this  tender  trait  in  her. 

"It  would  have  been  more  perfect  if  they  had  not,"  she 
said.     Then  she  broke  off  and  sat  back. 

"Why  did  he  shoot  just  then?"  she  asked. 

Oliver  turned  his  eyes  for  an  instant  towards  his  mother, 
but  she  was  knitting  tranquilly. 

Then  he  answered  with  a  curious  deliberateness. 

"I  said  that  Braithwaite  had  done  more  for  the  world  by 
one  speech  than  Jesus  and  all  His  saints  put  together." 
He  was  aware  that  the  knitting-needles  stopped  for  a 
second;  then  they  went  on  again  as  before. 

"But  he  must  have  meant  to  do  it  anyhow,"  continued 
Oliver. 

"How  do  they  know  he  was  a  Catholic?"  asked  the  girl 
again. 

"There  was  a  rosary  on  him;  and  then  he  just  had  time 
to  call  on  his  God." 


52  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"And  nothing  more  is  known?" 
"Nothing  more.  He  was  well  dressed,  though." 
Oliver  leaned  back  a  little  wearily  and  closed  his  eyes ; 
his  arm  still  throbbed  intolerably.  But  he  was  very  happy 
at  heart.  It  was  true  that  he  had  been  wounded  by  a 
fanatic,  but  he  was  not  sorry  to  bear  pain  in  such  a  cause, 
and  it  was  obvious  that  the  sympathy  of  England  was  with 
him.  Mr.  Phillips  even  now  was  busy  in  the  next  room, 
answering  the  telegrams  that  poured  in  every  moment. 
Caldecott,  the  Prime  Minister,  Maxwell,  Snowford  and  a 
dozen  others  had  Avircd  instantly  their  congratulations,  and 
from  every  part  of  England  streamed  in  message  after  mes- 
sage. It  was  an  immense  stroke  for  the  Communists ;  their 
spokesman  had  been  assaulted  during  the  discharge  of  his 
duty,  speaking  in  defence  of  his  principles ;  it  was  an  in- 
calculable gain  for  them,  and  loss  for  the  Individualists, 
that  confessors  were  not  all  on  one  side  after  all.  The  huge 
electric  placards  over  London  had  winked  out  the  facts  in 
Esperanto  as  Oliver  stepped  into  the  train  at  twilight. 

"Oliver  Brand  wounded.  .  .  .  Catholic  assailant.  .  .  . 
Indignation  of  the  country.  .  .  .  Well-deserved  fate  of 
assassin." 

He  was  pleased,  too,  that  he  honestly  had  done  his  best 
to  save  the  man.  Even  in  that  moment  of  sudden  and  acute 
pain  he  had  cried  out  for  a  fair  trial ;  but  he  had  been  too 
late.  He  had  seen  the  starting  e^'cs  roll  up  in  the  crimson 
face,  and  the  horrid  grin  come  and  go  as  the  hands  had 
clutched  and  torn  at  his  throat.  Then  the  face  had  van- 
ished and  a  heavy  trampling  began  where  it  had  disap- 


THE  ADVENT  63 

peared.  Oh!  there  was  some  passion  and  loyalty  left  in 
England ! 

His  mother  got  up  presently  and  went  out,  still  without 
a  word ;  and  Mabel  turned  to  him,  laying  a  hand  on  his 
knee. 

"Are  you  too  tired  to  talk,  my  dear?" 

He  opened  his  eyes. 

"Of  course  not,  my  darling.     What  is  it.?" 

"What  do  you  think  will  be  the  effect?" 

He  raised  himself  a  little,  looking  out  as  usual  through 
the  darkening  windows  on  to  that  astonishing  view. 
Everywhere  now  lights  were  glowing,  a  sea  of  mellow  moons 
just  above  the  houses,  and  above  the  mysterious  heavy  blue 
of  a  summer  evening. 

"The  effect?"  he  said.  "It  can  be  nothing  but  good.  It 
was  time  that  something  happened.  My  dear,  I  feel  very 
downcast  sometimes,  as  you  know.  Well,  I  do  not  think 
I  shall  be  again.  I  have  been  afraid  sometimes  that  we 
were  losing  all  our  spirit,  and  that  the  old  Tories  were 
partly  right  when  they  prophesied  what  Communism  would 
do.     But  after  this " 

"Well?" 

"Well;  we  have  shown  that  we  can  shed  our  blood  too. 
It  is  in  the  nick  of  time,  too,  just  at  the  crisis.  I  don't 
want  to  exaggerate ;  it  is  only  a  scratch — but  it  was  so  de- 
liberate, and — and  so  dramatic.  The  poor  devil  could  not 
liave  chosen  a  worse  moment.     People  won't  forget  it." 

Mabel's  eyes  shone  with  pleasure. 

"You  poor  dear!"  she  said.     "Are  you  in  pain?" 

"Not  much.  Besides,  Christ!  what  do  I  care?  If  only 
this  infernal  Eastern  affair  would  end!" 


54  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

He  knew  he  was  feverish  and  irritable,  and  made  a  great 
effort  to  drive  it  down. 

"Oh,  my  dear!"  he  went  on,  flushed  a  Httle.  "If  they 
would  not  be  such  heavy  fools :  they  don't  understand ;  they 
don't  understand." 

"Yes,  Oliver.?" 

"They  don't  understand  what  a  glorious  thing  it  all  is: 
Humanity,  Life,  Truth  at  last,  and  the  death  of  Folly! 
But  haven't  I  told  them  a  hundred  times?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  kindling  eyes.  She  loved  to  see 
him  like  this,  his  confident,  flushed  face,  the  enthusiasm  in 
his  blue  eyes ;  and  the  knowledge  of  his  pain  pricked  her 
feeling  with  passion.  She  bent  forward  and  kissed  him 
suddenly. 

"My  dear,  I  am  so  proud  of  you.     Oh,  Oliver !" 

He  said  nothing;  but  she  could  see  what  she  loved  to  see, 
that  response  to  her  own  heart ;  and  so  they  sat  in  silence 
while  the  sky  darkened  yet  more,  and  the  click  of  the 
writer  in  the  next  room  told  them  that  the  world  was  alive 
and  that  they  had  a  share  in  its  aff'airs. 

Oliver  stirred  presently. 

"Did  you  notice  anything  just  now,  sweetheart — when  I 
said  that  about  Jesus  Christ?" 

"She  stopped  knitting  for  a  moment,"  said  the  girl. 

He  nodded. 

"You  saw  that  too,  then.  .  .  .  INIabel,  do  you  think  she 
is  falling  back?" 

"Oh !  she  is  getting  old,"  said  the  girl  lightly.  "Of  course 
she  looks  back  a  little." 

"But  you  don't  think — it  would  be  too  awful !" 

She  shook  her  head. 


THE  ADVENT  65 

*'No,  no,  my  dear;  you're  excited  and  tired.  It's  just  a 
little  sentiment.  .  .  .  Oliver,  I  don't  think  I  would  say 
that  kind  of  thing  before  her." 

"But  she  hears  it  everywhere  now." 

"No,  she  doesn't.  Remember  she  hardly  ever  goes  out. 
Besides,  she  hates  it.  After  all,  she  was  brought  up  a 
Catholic." 

Oliver  nodded,  and  lay  back  again,  looking  dreamily  out. 

"Isn't  it  astonishing  the  way  in  which  suggestion  lasts  .f* 
She  can't  get  it  out  of  her  head,  even  after  fifty  years. 
Well,  watch  her,  won't  you.''  .   .   .  By  the  way  ..." 

"Yes.?" 

"There's  a  little  more  news  from  the  East.  They  say 
Felsenburgh's  running  the  whole  thing  now.  The  Empire 
is  sending  him  everywhere — Tobolsk,  Benares,  Yakutsk — 
everywhere ;  and  he's  been  to  Australia." 

Mabel  sat  up  briskly. 

"Isn't  that  very  hopeful?" 

"I  suppose  so.  There's  no  doubt  that  the  Sufis  are  win- 
ning; but  for  how  long  is  another  question.  Besides,  the 
troops  don't  disperse." 

"And  Europe.?" 

"Europe  is  arming  as  fast  as  possible.  I  hear  we  are  to 
meet  the  Powers  next  week  at  Paris.     I  must  go." 

"Your  arm,  my  dear?" 

"My  arm  must  get  well.  It  will  have  to  go  with  me,  any- 
how." 

"Tell  me  some  more." 

"There  is  no  more.  But  it  is  just  as  certain  as  it  can  be 
that  this  is  the  crisis.  If  the  East  can  be  persuaded  to  hold 
its  hand  now,  it  will  never  be  likely  to  raise  it  again.    It  will 


56  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

mean  free  trade  all  over  the  world,  I  suppose,  and  all  that 
kind  of  thing.     But  if  not " 

"Well?" 

"If  not,  there  will  be  a  catastrophe  such  as  never  has  been 
even  imagined.  The  whole  human  race  will  be  at  war,  and 
either  East  or  West  will  be  simply  wiped  out.  These  new 
Benninschein  explosives  will  make  certain  of  that." 

"But  is  it  absolutely  certain  that  the  East  has  got  them.?" 

"Absolutely.  Benninschein  sold  them  simultaneously  to 
East  and  West;  then  he  died,  luckily  for  him." 

Mabel  had  heard  this  kind  of  talk  before,  but  her  imagina- 
tion simply  refused  to  grasp  it.  A  duel  of  East  and  West 
under  these  new  conditions  was  an  unthinkable  thing. 
There  had  been  no  European  war  within  living  memory, 
and  the  Eastern  wars  of  the  last  century  had  been  under  the 
old  conditions.  Now,  if  tales  were  true,  entire  towns  would 
be  destroyed  with  a  single  shell.  The  new  conditions  were 
unimaginable.  Military  experts  prophesied  extravagantly, 
contradicting  one  another  on  vital  points ;  the  whole  pro- 
cedure of  war  was  a  matter  of  theory;  there  were  no 
precedents  with  which  to  compare  it.  It  was  as  if 
archers  disputed  as  to  the  results  of  cordite.  Only  one 
thing  was  certain — that  the  East  had  every  modern  engine, 
and,  as  regards  male  population,  half  as  much  again  as 
the  rest  of  the  world  put  together;  and  the  conclusion 
to  be  drawn  from  these  premisses  was  not  reassuring  to 
England. 

But  imagination  simply  refused  to  speak.  The  daily 
papers  had  a  short,  careful  leading  article  every  day, 
founded  upon  the  scraps  of  news  that  stole  out  from  the 
conferences  on  the  other  side  of  the  world;  Felsenburgh's 


THE  ADVENT  57 

name  appeared  more  frequently  than  ever:  otherwise  there 
seemed  to  be  a  kind  of  hush.  Nothing  suffered  very  much ; 
trade  went  on ;  European  stocks  were  not  appreciably  lower 
than  usual;  men  still  built  houses,  married  wives,  begat 
sons  and  daughters,  did  their  business  and  went  to  the 
theatre,  for  the  mere  reason  that  there  was  no  good  in 
anything  else.  They  could  neither  save  nor  precipitate 
the  situation ;  it  was  on  too  large  a  scale.  Occasionally 
people  went  mad — people  who  had  succeeded  in  goading 
their  imagination  to  a  height  whence  a  glimpse  of  reality 
could  be  obtained ;  and  there  was  a  diffused  atmosphere  of 
tenseness.  But  that  was  all.  Not  many  speeches  were 
made  on  the  subject ;  it  had  been  found  inadvisable.  After 
all,  there  was  nothing  to  do  but  to  wait. 


Ill 


Mabel  remembered  her  husband's  advice  to  watch,  and  for 
a  few  days  did  her  best.  But  there  was  nothing  that 
alarmed  her.  The  old  lady  was  a  little  quiet,  perhaps,  but 
went  about  her  minute  affairs  as  usual.  She  asked  the  girl 
to  read  to  her  sometimes,  and  listened  unblenching  to  what- 
ever was  offered  her ;  she  attended  in  the  kitchen  daily,  or- 
ganised varieties  of  food,  and  appeared  interested  in  all 
that  concerned  her  son.  She  packed  his  bag  with  her  own 
hands,  set  out  his  furs  for  the  swift  flight  to  Paris,  and 
waved  to  him  from  the  window  as  he  went  down  the  little 
path  towards  the  junction.  He  would  be  gone  three  days, 
he  said. 


68  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

It  was  on  the  evening  of  the  second  day  that  she  fell  ill; 
and  Mabel,  running  upstairs,  in  alarai  at  the  message  of 
the  servant,  found  her  rather  flushed  and  agitated  in  her 
chair. 

"It  is  nothing,  my  dear,"  said  the  old  lady  tremulously ; 
and  she  added  the  description  of  a  symptom  or  two. 

Mabel  got  her  to  bed,  sent  for  the  doctor,  and  sat  down 
to  wait. 

She  was  sincerely  fond  of  the  old  lady,  and  had  always 
found  her  presence  in  the  house  a  quiet  sort  of  delight.  The 
effect  of  her  upon  the  mind  was  as  that  of  an  easy-chair 
upon  the  body.  The  old  lady  was  so  tranquil  and  human, 
so  absorbed  in  small  external  matters,  so  reminiscent  now 
and  then  of  the  days  of  her  youth,  so  utterly  without  re- 
sentment or  peevishness.  It  seemed  curiously  pathetic  to 
the  girl  to  watch  that  quiet  old  spirit  approach  its  extinc- 
tion, or  rather,  as  Mabel  believed,  its  loss  of  personality 
in  the  reabsorption  into  the  Spirit  of  Life  which  informed 
the  world.  She  found  less  difficulty  in  contemplating  the 
end  of  a  vigorous  soul,  for  in  that  case  she  imagined  a  kind 
of  energetic  rush  of  force  back  into  the  origin  of  things ; 
but  in  this  peaceful  old  lady  there  was  so  little  energy ; 
her  whole  point,  so  to  speak,  lay  in  the  delicate  little  fabric 
of  personality,  built  out  of  fragile  things  into  an  entity  far 
more  significant  than  the  sum  of  its  component  parts:  the 
death  of  a  flower,  reflected  Mabel,  is  sadder  than  the  death 
of  a  lion ;  the  breaking  of  a  piece  of  china  more  irreparable 
than  the  ruin  of  a  palace. 

"It  is  syncope,"  said  the  doctor  when  he  came  in.  "She 
may  die  at  any  time ;  she  may  live  ten  years." 

"There  is  no  need  to  telegraph  for  Mr.  Brand.''" 


THE  ADVENT  59 

He  made  a  little  deprecating  movement  with  his  hands. 

"It  is  not  certain  that  she  will  die — it  is  not  imminent?" 
she  asked. 

"No,  no ;  she  may  live  ten  years,  I  said." 

He  added  a  word  or  two  of  advice  as  to  the  use  of  the 
oxygen  injector,  and  went  away. 

The  old  lady  was  lying  quietly  in  bed,  when  the  girl  went 
up,  and  put  out  a  wrinkled  hand. 

"Well,  my  dear.?"  she  asked. 

"It  is  just  a  little  weakness,  mother.  You  must  lie  quiet 
and  do  nothing.     Shall  I  read  to  you?" 

"No,  my  dear ;  I  will  think  a  little." 

It  was  no  part  of  Mabel's  idea  to  duty  to  tell  her  that  she 
was  in  danger,  for  there  was  no  past  to  set  straight,  no 
Judge  to  be  confronted.  Death  was  an  ending,  not  a  be- 
ginning. It  was  a  peaceful  Gospel;  at  least,  it  became 
peaceful  as  soon  as  the  end  had  come. 

So  the  girl  went  downstairs  once  more,  with  a  quiet  little 
ache  at  her  heart  that  refused  to  be  still. 

What  a  strange  and  beautiful  thing  death  was,  she  told 
herself — this  resolution  of  a  chord  that  had  hung  sus- 
pended for  thirty,  fifty  or  seventy  years — back  again  into 
the  stillness  of  the  huge  Instrument  that  was  all  in  all  to 
itself.  Those  same  notes  would  be  struck  again,  were  being 
struck  again  even  now  all  over  the  world,  though  with  an 
infinite  delicacy  of  difference  in  the  touch;  but  that  par- 
ticular emotion  was  gone :  it  was  foolish  to  think  that  it  was 
sounding  eternally  elsewhere,  for  there  was  no  elsewhere. 
She,  too,  herself  would  cease  one  day,  let  her  see  to  it  that 
the  tone  was  pure  and  lovely. 


60  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

Mr.  Phillips  arrived  the  next  morning  as  usual,  just  as 
Mabel  had  left  the  old  lady's  room,  and  asked  news  of  her. 

"She  is  a  little  better,  I  think,"  said  Mabel.  "She  must 
be  very  quiet  all  day." 

The  secretary  bowed  and  turned  aside  into  Oliver's  room, 
where  a  heap  of  letters  lay  to  be  answered. 

A  couple  of  hours  later,  as  Mabel  went  upstairs  once  more, 
she  met  Mr.  Phillips  coming  down.  He  looked  a  little 
flushed  under  his  sallow  skin. 

"Mrs.  Brand  sent  for  me,"  he  said.  "She  wished  to  know 
whether  Mr.  Oliver  would  be  back  to-night." 

"He  will,  will  he  not,?     You  have  not  heard .'^" 

"Mr.  Brand  said  he  would  be  here  for  a  late  dinner.  He 
will  reach  London  at  nineteen." 

"And  is  there  any  other  news."^" 

He  compressed  his  lips. 

"There  are  rumours,"  he  said.  "Mr.  Brand  wired  to  me 
an  hour  ago." 

He  seemed  moved  at  something,  and  Mabel  looked  at  him 
in  astonishment. 

"It  is  not  Eastern  news.?"  she  asked. 

His  eyebrows  wrinkled  a  little. 

"You  must  forgive  me,  Mrs.  Brand,"  he  said.  "I  am  not 
at  liberty  to  say  anything." 

She  was  not  offended,  for  she  trusted  her  husband  too 
well ;  but  she  went  on  into  the  sick-room  with  her  heart 
beating. 

The  old  lady,  too,  seemed  excited.  She  lay  In  bed  with  a 
clear  flush  in  her  white  cheeks,  and  hardly  smiled  at  all  to 
the  girl's  greeting. 

"Well,  you  have  seen  Mr.  Phillips,  then?"  said  Mabel. 


THE  ADVENT  61 

Old  Mrs.  Brand  looked  at  her  sharply  an  instant,  but  said 
nothing. 

"Don't  excite  yourself,  mother.  Oliver  will  be  back  to- 
night." 

The  old  lady  drew  a  long  breath. 

"Don't  trouble  about  me,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "I  shall 
do  very  well  now.    He  will  be  back  to  dinner,  will  he  not.'"' 

"If  the  volor  is  not  late.  Now,  mother,  are  you  ready  for 
breakfast .?" 

Mabel  passed  an  afternoon  of  considerable  agitation.  It 
was  certain  that  something  had  happened.  The  secretary, 
who  breakfasted  with  her  in  the  parlour  looking  on  to  the 
garden,  had  appeared  strangely  excited.  He  had  told  her 
that  he  would  be  away  the  rest  of  the  day :  Mr.  Oliver  had 
given  him  his  instructions.  He  had  refrained  from  all  dis- 
cussion of  the  Eastern  question,  and  he  had  given  her  no 
news  of  the  Paris  Convention ;  he  only  repeated  that  Mr. 
Oliver  would  be  back  that  night.  Then  he  had  gone  off  in 
a  hurry  half-an-hour  later. 

The  old  lady  seemed  asleep  when  the  girl  went  up  after- 
wards, and  Mabel  did  not  like  to  disturb  her.  Neither  did 
she  like  to  leave  the  house;  so  she  walked  by  herself  in  the 
garden,  thinking  and  hoping  and  fearing,  till  the  long 
shadow  lay  across  the  path,  and  the  tumbled  platform  of 
roofs  was  bathed  in  a  dusty  green  haze  from  the  west. 

As  she  came  in  she  took  up  the  evening  paper,  but  there 
was  no  news  there  except  to  the  effect  that  the  Convention 
would  close  that  afternoon. 

Twenty  o'clock  came,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  Ohver. 


62  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

The  Paris  volor  should  have  arrived  an  hour  before,  but 
IMabel,  staring  out  into  the  darkening  heavens  had  seen 
the  stars  come  out  Hke  jewels  one  by  one,  but  no  slender 
winged  fish  pass  overhead.  Of  course  she  might  have  missed 
it ;  there  was  no  depending  on  its  exact  course ;  but  she  had 
seen  it  a  hundred  times  before,  and  wondered  unreasonably 
why  she  had  not  seen  it  now.  But  she  would  not  sit  down  to 
dinner,  and  paced  up  and  down  in  her  white  dress,  turning 
again  and  again  to  the  window,  listening  to  the  soft  rush 
of  the  trains,  the  faint  hoots  from  the  track,  and  the  musi- 
cal chords  from  the  junction  a  mile  away.  The  lights  were 
up  by  now,  and  the  vast  sweep  of  the  towns  looked  like 
fairyland  between  the  earthly  light  and  the  heavenly  dark- 
ness. Why  did  not  Oliver  come,  or  at  least  let  her  know 
why  he  did  not-f* 

Once  she  went  upstairs,  miserably  anxious  herself,  to  re- 
assure the  old  lady,  and  found  her  again  very  drowsy. 

"He  is  not  come,"  she  said.  "I  dare  say  he  may  be  kept 
in  Paris." 

The  old  face  on  the  pillow  nodded  and  murmured,  and 
Mabel  went  down  again.  It  was  now  an  hour  after  dinner- 
time. 

Oh !  there  were  a  hundred  things  that  might  have  kept  him. 
He  had  often  been  later  than  this:  he  might  have  missed 
the  volor  he  meant  to  catch ;  the  Convention  might  have 
been  prolonged ;  he  might  be  exhausted,  and  think  it  better 
to  sleep  in  Paris  after  all,  and  have  forgotten  to  wire.  He 
might  even  have  wired  to  Mr.  Phillips,  and  the  secretary 
have  forgotten  to  pass  on  the  message. 

She  went  at  last,  hopelessly,  to  the  telephone,  and  looked 
at  it.    There  it  was,  that  round  silent  mouth,  that  little  row 


THE  ADVENT  63 

of  labelled  buttons.  She  half  decided  to  touch  them  one  by 
one,  and  inquire  whether  anything  had  been  heard  of  her 
husband:  there  was  his  club,  his  office  in  Whitehall,  ]Mr. 
Phillips's  house.  Parliament-house,  and  the  rest.  But  she 
hesitated,  telling  herself  to  be  patient.  Oliver  hated  inter- 
ference, and  he  would  surely  soon  remember  and  relieve 
her  anxiety. 

Then,  even  as  she  turned  away,  the  bell  rang  sharply,  and 
a  white  label  flashed  into  sight. — Whitehall. 

She  pressed  the  corresponding  button,  and,  her  hand 
shaking  so  much  that  she  could  scarcely  hold  the  receiver  to 
her  ear,  she  listened. 

"Who  is  there?" 

Her  heart  leaped  at  the  sound  of  her  husband's  voice, 
tiny  and  minute  across  the  miles  of  wire. 

"I — Mabel,"  she  said.     "Alone  here." 

"Oh !  Mabel.  Very  well.  I  am  back :  all  is  well.  Now 
listen.     Can  you  hear.?" 

"Yes,  yes." 

"The  best  has  happened.  It  is  all  over  in  the  East.  Fel- 
senburgh  has  done  it.  Now  listen.  I  cannot  come  home 
to-night.  It  will  be  announced  in  Paul's  House  in  two 
hours  from  now.  We  are  communicating  with  the  Press. 
Come  up  here  to  me  at  once.  You  must  be  present.  .  .  . 
Can  you  hear.?" 

"Oh,  yes." 

"Come  then  at  once.  It  will  be  the  greatest  thing  in  his- 
tory. Tell  no  one.  Come  before  the  rush  begins.  In 
half-an-hour  the  way  will  be  stopped." 

"Oliver." 

"Yes?    Quick." 


64  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"Mother  is  ill.     Shall  I  leave  her?" 
"How  ill?" 

"Oh,  no  immediate  danger.     The  doctor  has  seen  her." 
There  was  silence  for  a  moment. 

"Yes ;  come  then.    We  will  go  back  to-night  anyhow,  then. 
Tell  her  we  shall  be  late." 
"Very  well." 
"...  Yes,  you  must  come.    Felsenburgh  will  be  there." 


CHAPTER  IV 


On  the  same  afternoon  Percy  received  a  visitor. 

There  was  nothing  exceptional  about  him ;  and  Percy,  as 
he  came  downstairs  in  his  walking-dress  and  looked  at  him 
in  the  light  from  the  tall  parlour-window,  came  to  no  con- 
clusion at  all  as  to  his  business  and  person,  except  that 
he  was  not  a  Catholic. 

"You  wished  to  see  me,"  said  the  priest,  indicating  a  chair. 
"I  fear  I  must  not  stop  long." 

"I  shall  not  keep  you  long,"  said  the  stranger  eagerly. 
"My  business  is  done  in  five  minutes." 

Percy  waited  with  his  eyes  cast  down. 

"A — a  certain  person  has  sent  me  to  you.  She  was  a 
Catholic  once ;  she  wishes  to  return  to  the  Church." 

Percy  made  a  little  movement  with  his  head.  It  was  a 
message  he  did  not  very  often  receive  in  these  days. 

"You  will  come,  sir,  Avill  you  not?    You  will  promise  me.''" 

The  man  seemed  greatly  agitated;  his  sallow  face  showed 
a  little  shining  with  sweat,  and  his  eyes  were  piteous. 

"Of  course  I  will  come,"  said  Perc}',  smiling. 

"Yes,  sir;  but  you  do  not  know  who  she  is.  It — it  would 
make  a  great  stir,  sir,  if  it  was  known.  It  must  not  be 
known,  sir;  you  will  promise  me  that,  too?" 

"I  must  not  make  any  promise  of  that  kind,"  said  the 
priest  gently.     "I  do  not  know  the  circumstances  yet." 

The  stranger  licked  his  lips  nervously. 


66  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"Well,  sir,"  he  said  hastily,  "you  will  say  nothing  till 
you  have  seen  her?    You  can  promise  me  that." 

"Oh !  certainly,"  said  the  priest. 

"Well,  sir,  you  had  better  not  know  my  name.  It — it  may 
make  it  easier  for  you  and  for  me.  And — and,  if  you 
please,  sir,  the  lady  is  ill;  you  must  come  to-day,  if  you 
please,  but  not  until  the  evening.  Will  twenty-two  o'clock 
be  convenient,  sir?" 

"Where  is  it?"  asked  Percy  abruptly. 

"It — it  is  near  Croydon  junction.  I  will  write  down 
the  address  presently.  And  you  will  not  come  until  twenty- 
two  o'clock,  sir?" 

"Why  not  now?" 

"Because  the — the  others  may  be  there.  They  will  be 
away  then ;  I  know  that." 

This  was  rather  suspicious,  Percy  thought:  discreditable 
plots  had  been  known  before.  But  he  could  not  refuse  out- 
right. 

"Why  does  she  not  send  for  her  parish-priest?"  he  asked. 

"She — she  does  not  know  who  he  is,  sir;  she  saw  you  once 
in  the  Cathedral,  sir,  and  asked  you  for  your  name.  Do 
you  remember,  sir.^* — an  old  lady?" 

Percy  did  dimly  remember  something  of  the  kind  a 
month  or  two  before ;  but  he  could  not  be  certain,  and 
said  so. 

"Well,  sir,  you  will  come,  will  you  not?" 

"I  must  communicate  with  Father  Dolan,"  said  the  priest. 
"If  he  gives  me  permission " 

"If  you  please,  sir.  Father — Father  Dolan  must  not  know 
her  name.     You  will  not  tell  him?" 

"I  do  not  know  it  myself  yet,"  said  the  priest,  smiling. 


THE  ADVENT  67 

The  stranger  sat  back  abruptly  at  that,  and  his  face 
worked. 

"Well,  sir,  let  me  tell  you  this  first.  This  old  lady's  son 
is  my  employer,  and  a  very  prominent  Communist.  She 
lives  with  him  and  his  wife.  The  other  two  will  be  away 
to-night.  That  is  why  I  am  asking  you  all  this.  And  now, 
you  will  come,  sir.'"' 

Percy  looked  at  him  steadily  for  a  moment  or  two.  Cer- 
tainly, if  this  was  a  conspiracy,  the  conspirators  were  feeble 
folk.     Then  he  answered: 

"I  will  come,  sir ;  I  promise.    Now  the  name." 

The  stranger  again  licked  his  lips  nervously,  and  glanced 
timidly  from  side  to  side.  Then  he  seemed  to  gather  his 
resolution ;  he  leaned  forward  and  whispered  sharply. 

"The  old  lady's  name  is  Brand,  sir — the  mother  of  Mr. 
Oliver  Brand." 

For  a  moment  Percy  was  bewildered.  It  was  too  extraordi- 
nary to  be  true.  He  knew  Mr.  Oliver  Brand's  name  only 
too  well ;  it  was  he  who,  by  God's  permission,  was  doing 
more  in  England  at  this  moment  against  the  Catholic  cause 
than  any  other  man  alive ;  and  it  was  he  whom  the  Trafalgar 
Square  incident  had  raised  into  such  eminent  popularity. 
And  now,  here  was  his  mother 

He  turned  fiercely  upon  the  man. 

"I  do  not  know  what  you  are,  sir — whether  you  believe  in 
God  or  not ;  but  will  you  swear  to  me  on  your  religion  and 
your  honour  that  all  this  is  true?" 

The  timid  e3'es  met  his,  and  wavered ;  but  it  was  the  waver- 
ing of  weakness,  not  of  treachery. 

"I — I  swear  it,  sir;  by  God  Almighty." 

"Are  you  a  Cathohc?" 


68  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

"But  I  believe  in  Gcd,"  he  said.     "Ah  least,  I  think  so." 

Percy  leaned  back,  trying  to  realise  exactly  what  it  all 
meant.  There  Mas  no  triumph  In  his  mind — that  kind  of 
emotion  was  not  his  weakness ;  there  was  fear  of  a  kind, 
excitement,  bewilderment,  and  under  all  a  satisfaction  that 
God's  grace  was  so  sovereign.  If  It  could  reach  this  woman, 
who  could  be  too  far  removed  for  It  to  take  effect?  Pres- 
entl}'  he  noticed  the  other  looking  at  him  anxiously. 

"You  are  afraid,  sir.'*  You  are  not  going  back  from  your 
promise  .f"' 

That  dispersed  the  cloud  a  little,  and  Percy  smiled. 

"Oh !  no,"  he  said.  "I  will  be  there  at  twenty-two  o'clock. 
...  Is  death  imminent?" 

"No,  sir;  it  is  syncope.  She  is  recovered  a  little  this 
morning." 

The  priest  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes  and  stood  up. 

"Well,  I  will  be  there,"  he  said.    "Shall  you  be  there,  sir?" 

The  other  shook  his  head,  standing  up  too. 

"I  must  be  with  Mr.  Brand,  sir;  there  is  to  be  a  meeting 
to-night ;  but  I  must  not  speak  of  that.  .  .  .  No,  sir ;  ask 
for  Mrs.  Brand,  and  say  that  she  is  expecting  you.  They 
will  take  you  upstairs  at  once." 

"I  must  not  say  I  am  a  priest,  I  suppose?" 

"No,  sir ;  If  you  please." 

He  drew  out  a  pocket-book,  scribbled  In  it  a  moment,  tore 
out  the  sheet,  and  handed  It  to  the  priest. 

"The  address,  sir.  Will  you  kindly  destroy  that  when  3'ou 
have  copied  It?  I — I  do  not  wish  to  lose  my  place,  sir,  if 
It  can  be  helped." 

Percy  stood  twisting  the  paper  in  his  fingers  a  moment. 


THE  ADVENT  69 

"Why  are  you  not  a  Catholic  yourself?"  he  asked. 
The  man  shook  his  head  mutely.    Then  he  took  up  his  hat, 
and  went  towards  the  door. 

Percy  passed  a  very  emotional  afternoon. 

For  the  last  month  or  two  little  had  happened  to  encour- 
age him.  He  had  been  obliged  to  report  half-a-dozen  more 
significant  secessions,  and  hardly  a  conversion  of  any  kind. 
There  was  no  doubt  at  all  that  the  tide  was  setting  steadily 
against  the  Church.  The  mad  act  in  Trafalgar  Square, 
too,  had  done  incalculable  harm  last  week :  men  were  saying 
more  than  ever,  and  the  papers  storming,  that  the  Church's 
reliance  on  the  supernatural  was  belied  by  every  one  of  her 
public  acts.  "Scratch  a  Catholic  and  find  an  assassin"  had 
been  the  text  of  a  leading  article  in  the  New  People,  and 
Percy  himself  was  dismaj-ed  at  the  folly  of  the  attempt. 
It  was  true  that  the  Archbishop  had  formally  repudiated 
both  the  act  and  the  motive  from  the  Cathedral  pulpit,  but 
that  too  had  only  served  as  an  opportunity  hastily  taken  up 
by  the  principal  papers,  to  recall  the  continual  policy  of 
the  Church  to  avail  herself  of  violence  while  she  repudiated 
the  violent.  Tlie  horrible  death  of  the  man  had  in  no  way 
appeased  popular  indignation ;  there  were  not  even  want- 
ing suggestions  that  the  man  had  been  seen  coming  out  of 
Archbishop's  House  an  hour  before  the  attempt  at  assassi- 
nation had  taken  place. 

And  now  here,  with  dramatic  swiftness,  had  come  a  mes- 
sage that  the  hero's  own  mother  desired  reconciliation  with 
the  Church  that  had  attempted  to  murder  her  son. 

Again  and  again  that  afternoon,  as  Percy  sped  north- 


70  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

wards  on  his  visit  to  a  priest  in  Worcester,  and  southwards 
once  more  as  the  lights  began  to  shine  towards  evening,  he 
wondered  whether  this  were  not  a  plot  after  all — some  kind 
of  retaliation,  an  attempt  to  trap  him.  Yet  he  had 
promised  to  say  nothing,  and  to  go. 

He  finished  his  daily  letter  after  dinner  as  usual,  with  a 
curious  sense  of  fatality;  addressed  and  stamped  it.  Then 
he  went  downstairs,  in  his  walking-dress,  to  Father  Black- 
more's  room. 

"Will  you  hear  my  confession,  father.'^"  he  said  abruptly. 


II 


Victoria  Station,  still  named  after  the  great  nineteenth- 
century  Queen,  was  neither  more  nor  less  busy  than  usual 
as  he  came  into  it  half-an-hour  later.  The  vast  platform, 
sunk  now  nearly  two  hundred  feet  below  the  ground  level, 
showed  the  double  crowd  of  passengers  entering  and  leaving 
town.  Those  on  the  extreme  left,  towards  whom  Percy 
began  to  descend  in  the  open  glazed  lift,  were  by  far  the 
most  numerous,  and  the  stream  at  the  lift-entrance  made 
it  necessary  for  him  to  move  slowly. 

He  arrived  at  last,  walking  in  the  soft  light  on  the 
noiseless  ribbed  rubber,  and  stood  by  the  door  of  the  long 
car  that  ran  straight  through  to  the  Junction.  It  was  the 
last  of  a  series  of  a  dozen  or  more,  each  of  which  slid  off 
minute  by  minute.  Then,  still  watching  the  endless  move- 
ment of  the  lifts  ascending  and  descending  between  the  en- 
trances of  the  upper  end  of  the  station,  he  stepped  in  and 
sat  down. 


THE  ADVENT  71 

He  felt  quiet  now  that  he  had  actually  started.  He  had 
made  his  confession,  just  in  order  to  make  certain  of  his 
own  soul,  though  scarcely  expecting  any  definite  danger, 
and  sat  now,  his  grey  suit  and  straw  hat  in  no  way  dis- 
tinguishing him  as  a  priest  (for  a  general  leave  was  given 
by  the  authorities  to  dress  so  for  any  adequate  reason). 
Since  the  case  was  not  imminent,  he  had  not  brought  stocks 
or  pyx — Father  Dolan  had  wired  to  him  that  he  might  fetch 
them  if  he  wished  from  St.  Joseph's,  near  the  Junction.  He 
had  only  the  violet  thread  in  his  pocket,  such  as  was  cus- 
tomary for  sick  calls. 

He  was  sliding  along  peaceably  enough,  fixing  his  eyes 
on  the  empty  seat  opposite,  and  trying  to  preserve  com- 
plete collectedness  when  the  car  abruptly  stopped.  Pie 
looked  out,  astonished,  and  saw  by  the  white  enamelled 
walks  twenty  feet  from  the  window  that  they  were  already 
in  the  tunnel.  The  stoppage  might  arise  from  many  causes, 
and  he  was  not  greatly  excited,  nor  did  it  seem  that  others 
in  the  carriage  took  it  very  seriously ;  he  could  hear,  after 
a  moment's  silence,  the  talking  recommence  beyond  the  par- 
tition. 

Then  there  came,  echoed  by  the  walls,  the  sound  of  shout- 
ing from  far  away,  mingled  with  hoots  and  chords ;  it  grew 
louder.  The  talking  in  the  carriage  stopped.  He  heard  a 
window  thrown  up,  and  the  next  instant  a  car  tore  past, 
going  back  to  the  station  although  on  the  down  line.  This 
must  be  looked  into,  thought  Percy:  something  certainly 
was  happening;  so  he  got  up  and  went  across  the  empty 
compartment  to  the  further  window.  Again  came  the  cry- 
ing of  voices,  again  the  signals,  and  once  more  a  car 
whirled    past,    followed    almost    immediately    by    another. 


72  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

There  was  a  jerk — a  smooth  movement.  Perc}'  staggered 
and  fell  into  a  seat,  as  the  carriage  in  which  he  was  seated 
itself  began  to  move  backwards. 

There  was  a  clamour  now  in  the  next  compartment,  and 
Percy  made  his  way  there  through  the  door,  only  to  find 
half-a-dozen  men  with  their  heads  thrust  from  the  windows, 
who  paid  absolutely  no  attention  to  his  inquiries.  So  he 
stood  there,  aware  that  they  knew  no  more  than  himself, 
waiting  for  an  explanation  from  some  one.  It  was  dis- 
graceful, he  told  himself,  that  any  misadventure  should  so 
disorganise  the  line. 

Twice  the  car  stopped ;  each  time  it  moved  on  again  after 
a  hoot  or  two,  and  at  last  drew  up  at  the  platform  whence 
it  had  started,  although  a  hundred  yards  further  out. 

Ah !  there  was  no  doubt  that  something  had  happened ! 
The  instant  he  opened  the  door  a  great  roar  met  his  ears, 
and  as  he  sprang  on  to  the  platform  and  looked  up  at  the 
end  of  the  station,  he  began  to  understand. 

From  right  to  left  of  the  huge  interior,  across  the  plat- 
forms, swelling  every  instant,  surged  an  enormous  swaying, 
roaring  crowd.  The  flight  of  steps,  twenty  yards  broad, 
used  only  in  cases  of  emergency,  resembled  a  gigantic  black 
cataract  nearly  two  hundred  feet  in  height.  Each  car  as 
it  drew  up  discharged  more  and  more  men  and  women,  who 
ran  like  ants  towards  the  assembly  of  their  fellows.  The 
noise  was  indescribable,  the  shouting  of  men,  the  scream- 
ing of  women,  the  clang  and  hoot  of  the  huge  machines, 
and  three  or  four  times  the  brazen  cry  of  a  trumpet,  as  an 
emergency  door  was  flung  open  overhead,  and  a  small 
swirl  of  crowd  poured  through  it  towards  the  streets  be- 


THE  ADVENT  73 

yond.  But  after  one  look  Percy  looked  no  more  at  the 
people ;  for  there,  high  up  beneath  the  clock,  on  the  Gov- 
ernment signal  board,  flared  out  monstrous  letters  of  fire, 
telling  in  Esperanto  and  English,  the  message  for  which 
England  had  grown  sick.  He  read  it  a  dozen  times  before 
he  moved,  staring,  as  at  a  supernatural  sight  which  might 
denote  the  triumph  of  either  heaven  or  hell. 

"Eastern  Convention  Dispersed. 

Peace,  not  War. 

Universal  Brotherhood  Established. 

Felsenburgh  in  London  To-night." 


Ill 


It  was  not  until  nearly  two  hours  later  that  Percy  was 
standing  at  the  house  beyond  the  Junction. 

He  had  argued,  expostulated,  threatened,  but  the  officials 
were  like  men  possessed.  Half  of  them  had  disappeared  in 
the  rush  to  the  City,  for  it  had  leaked  out,  in  spite  of  the 
Government's  precautions,  that  Paul's  House,  known  once 
as  St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  was  to  be  the  scene  of  Felsen- 
burgh's  reception.  The  others  seemed  demented ;  one  man 
on  the  platform  had  dropped  dead  from  nervous  exhaustion, 
but  no  one  appeared  to  care ;  and  the  body  lay  huddled  be- 


74  LORD  OF  THE  WOULD 

neath  a  seat.  Again  and  again  Percy  had  been  swept  away 
by  a  rush,  as  he  struggled  from  platform  to  platform  in  his 
search  for  a  car  that  would  take  him  to  Croydon.  It  seemed 
that  there  was  none  to  be  had,  and  the  useless  carriages  col- 
lected like  drift-wood  between  the  platforms,  as  others 
whirled  up  from  the  country  bringing  loads  of  frantic, 
delirious  men,  who  vanished  like  smoke  from  the  white  rub- 
ber-boards. The  platforms  were  continually  crowded,  and 
as  continually  emptied,  and  it  was  not  until  half-an-hour 
before  midnight  that  the  block  began  to  move  outwards 
again. 

Well,  he  was  here  at  last,  dishevelled,  hatless  and  ex- 
hausted, looking  up  at  the  dark  windows. 

He  scarcely  knew  what  he  thought  of  the  whole  matter. 
War,  of  course,  was  terrible.  And  such  a  war  as  this  would 
have  been  too  terrible  for  the  imagination  to  visualise ;  but 
to  the  priest's  mind  there  were  other  things  even  worse. 
What  of  universal  peace — peace,  that  is  to  say,  established 
by  others  than  Christ's  method  .^  Or  was  God  behind  even 
this.?    The  questions  were  hopeless. 

Felsenburgh — it  was  he  then  who  had  done  this  thing — 
this  thing  undoubtedly  greater  than  any  secular  event 
hitherto  known  in  civilisation.  What  manner  of  man  was 
he.'*  What  was  his  character,  his  motive,  his  method.'^ 
How  would  he  use  his  success.''  ...  So  the  points  flew  be- 
fore him  like  a  stream  of  sparks,  each,  it  might  be,  harm- 
less ;  each,  equally,  capable  of  setting  a  world  on  fire.  Mean- 
while here  was  an  old  woman  who  desired  to  be  reconciled 
with  God  before  she  died.  .   .   . 

He  touched  the  button  again,  three  or  four  times,  and 


THE  ADVENT  75 

waited.  Then  a  light  sprang  out  overhead,  and  he  knew 
that  he  was  heard. 

"I  was  sent  for,"  he  exclaimed  to  the  bewildered  maid. 
"I  should  have  been  here  at  twenty-two :  I  was  prevented  by 
the  rush." 

She  babbled  out  a  question  at  him. 

"Yes,  it  is  true,  I  believe,"  he  said.  "It  is  peace,  not  war. 
Kindly  take  me  upstairs." 

He  went  through  the  hall  with  a  curious  sense  of  guilt. 
This  was  Bi'and's  house  then — that  vivid  orator,  so  bitterly 
eloquent  against  God ;  and  here  was  he,  a  priest,  slinking 
in  under  cover  of  night.  Well,  well,  it  was  not  of  his 
appointment. 

At  the  door  of  an  upstairs  room  the  maid  turned  to  him. 

"A  doctor,  sir?"  she  said. 

"That  is  my  affair,"  said  Percy  briefly,  and  opened  the 
door. 

A  little  wailing  cry  broke  from  the  comer,  before  he  had 
time  to  close  the  door  again. 

"Oh !  thank  God !  I  thought  He  had  forgotten  me.  You 
are  a  priest,  father  .P" 

"I  am  a  priest.  Do  you  not  remember  seeing  me  in  the 
Cathedral?" 

"Yes,  yes,  sir ;  I  saw  you  praying,  father.  Oh !  thank 
God,  thank  God !" 

Percy  stood  looking  down  at  her  a  moment,  seeing  her 
flushed  old  face  in  the  nightcap,  her  bright  sunken  eyes 
and  her  tremulous  hands.    Yes ;  this  was  genuine  enough. 

"Now,  my  child,"  he  said,  "tell  me." 

"My  confession,  father." 


76  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

Percy   drew   out   the  purple  thread,   slipped  it  over  his 
shoulders,  and  sat  down  by  the  bed. 


But  she  would  not  let  him  go  for  a  while  after  that. 

"Tell  me,  father.  When  will  you  bring  me  Holy  Com- 
munion.'"' 

He  hesitated. 

"I  understand  that  Mr.  Brand  and  his  wife  know  nothing 
of  all  this.?" 

"No,  father." 

"Tell  me,  are  you  very  ill  ?" 

"I  don't  know,  father.  They  will  not  tell  me.  I  thought 
I  was  gone  last  night." 

"When  would  you  wish  me  to  bring  you  Holy  Communion  ? 
I  will  do  as  you  say." 

"Shall  I  send  to  you  in  a  day  or  two.'*  Father,  ought  I 
to  tell  him.?" 

"You  are  not  obliged." 

"I  will  if  I  ought." 

"Well,  think  about  it,  and  let  me  know.  .  .  .  You  have 
heard  what  has  happened.?" 

She  nodded,  but  almost  uninterestedly ;  and  Percy  was 
conscious  of  a  tiny  prick  of  compunction  at  his  own  heart. 
After  all,  the  reconciling  of  a  soul  to  God  was  a  greater 
thing  than  the  reconciling  of  East  to  West. 

"It  may  make  a  difference  to  Mr.  Brand,"  he  said.  "He 
will  be  a  great  man,  now,  you  know." 

She  still  looked  at  him  in  silence,  smiling  a  little.  Percy 
was  astonished  at  the  youthfulness  of  that  old  face.  Then 
her  face  changed. 


THE  ADVENT  77 

"Father,  I  must  not  keep  you;  but  tell  me  this — Who  is 
this  man?" 

"Fclsenburgh?" 

"Yes." 

"No  one  knows.  We  shall  know  more  to-morrow.  He  is 
in  town  to-night." 

She  looked  so  strange  that  Percy  for  an  instant  thought 
it  was  a  seizure.  Her  face  seemed  to  fall  away  in  a  kind 
of  emotion,  half  cunning,  half  fear. 

"Well,  my  child.?" 

"Father,  I  am  a  little  afraid  when  I  think  of  that  man. 
He  cannot  hann  me,  can  he?  I  am  safe  now.?  I  am  a 
C^ithohc ?" 

"My  child,  of  course  you  are  safe.  What  is  the  matter? 
How  can  this  man  injure  you?" 

But  the  look  of  terror  was  still  there,  and  Percy  came  a 
step  nearer. 

"You  must  not  give  way  to  fancies,"  he  said.  "Just 
commit  yourself  to  our  Blessed  Lord.  This  man  can  do 
you  no  harm." 

He  was  speaking  now  as  to  a  child ;  but  it  was  of  no  use. 
Her  old  mouth  was  still  sucked  in,  and  her  eyes  wandered 
past  him  into  the  gloom  of  the  room  behind. 

"My  child,  tell  me  what  is  the  matter.  What  do  you 
know  of  Felsenburgh?     You  have  been  dreaming." 

She  nodded  suddenly  and  energetically,  and  Percy  for 
the  first  time  felt  his  heart  give  a  little  leap  of  apprehension. 
Was  this  old  woman  out  of  her  mind,  then?  Or  why  was 
it  that  that  name  seemed  to  him  sinister?  Then  he  remem- 
bered that  Father  Blackmore  had  once  talked  like  this.  He 
made  an  effort,  and  sat  down  once  more. 


78  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"Now  tell  me  plainly,"  he  said.  "You  have  been  dream- 
ing.    What  have  you  dreamt?" 

She  raised  herself  a  little  in  bed,  again  glancing  round 
the  room ;  then  she  put  out  her  old  ringed  hand  for  one 
of  his,  and  he  gave  it,  wondering. 

"The  door  is  shut,  father .''    There  is  no  one  listening?" 

"No,  no,  my  child.  Why  are  you  trembling?  You  must 
not  be  superstitious." 

"Father,  I  will  tell  you.  Dreams  are  nonsense,  are  they 
not?    Well,  at  least,  this  is  what  I  dreamt. 

"I  was  somewhere  in  a  great  house ;  I  do  not  know  where 
it  was.  It  was  a  house  I  have  never  seen.  It  was  one  of 
the  old  houses,  and  it  was  very  dark.  I  was  a  child,  I 
thought,  and  I  was  ...  I  was  afraid  of  something.  The 
passages  were  all  dark,  and  I  went  crying  in  the  dark,  look- 
ing for  a  light,  and  there  was  none.  Then  I  heard  a  voice 
talking,  a  great  way  off.     Father " 

Her  hand  gripped  his  more  tightly,  and  again  her  eyes 
went  round  the  room. 

With  great  difficulty  Percy  repressed  a  sigh.  Yet  he 
dared  not  leave  her  just  now.  The  house  was  very  still; 
only  from  outside  now  and  again  sounded  the  clang  of  the 
cars,  as  they  sped  countrywards  again  from  the  congested 
town,  and  once  the  sound  of  great  shouting.  He  wondered 
what  time  it  was. 

"Had  you  better  tell  me  now  ?"  he  asked,  still  talking  with 
a  patient  simplicity.     "What  time  will  they  be  back?" 

"Not  yet,"  she  whispered.  "Mabel  said  not  till  two 
o'clock.     What  time  is  it  now,  father?" 

He  pulled  out  his  watch  with  his  disengaged  hand. 

"It  is  not  yet  one,"  he  said. 


THE  ADVENT  79 

"Very  well,  listen,  father.  ...  I  was  in  this  house ;  and 
I  heard  that  talking;  and  I  ran  along  the  passages,  till  I 
saw  light  below  a  door ;  and  then  I  stopped.  .  .  .  Nearer, 
father." 

Percy  was  a  little  awed  in  spite  of  himself.  Her  voice 
had  suddenly  dropped  to  a  whisper,  and  her  old  eyes  seemed 
to  hold  him  strangely. 

"I  stopped,  father;  I  dared  not  go  in.  I  could  hear  the 
talking,  and  I  could  see  the  light;  and  I  dared  not  go  in. 
Father,  it  was  Felsenburgh  in  that  room." 

From  beneath  came  the  sudden  snap  of  a  door;  then  the 
sound  of  footsteps.  Percy  turned  his  head  abruptly,  and 
at  the  same  moment  heard  a  swift  indrawn  breath  from 
the  old  woman. 

"Hush!"  he  said.     "Who  is  that.?" 

Two  voices  were  talking  in  the  hall  below  now,  and  at 
the  sound  the  old  woman  relaxed  her  hold. 

"I — I  thought  it  to  be  him,"  she  murmured. 

Percy  stood  up ;  he  could  see  that  she  did  not  understand 
the  situation. 

"Yes,  my  child,"  he  said  quietly,  "but  who  is  it.?" 

"My  son  and  his  wife,"  she  said ;  then  her  face  changed 
once  more.      "Why — why,   father " 

Her  voice  died  in  her  throat,  as  a  step  vibrated  outside. 
For  a  moment  there  was  complete  silence;  then  a  whisper, 
plainly  audible,  in  a  girl's  voice. 

"Why,  her  light  is  burning.    Come  in,  Oliver,  but  softly." 

Then  the  handle  turned. 


CHAPTER  V 


There  was  an  exclamation,  then  silence,  as  a  tall,  beautiful 
girl  with  flushed  face  and  shining  grey  eyes  came  forward 
and  stopped,  followed  by  a  man  whom  Percy  knew  at  once 
from  his  pictures.  A  little  whimpering  sounded  from  the 
bed,  and  the  priest  lifted  his  hand  instinctively  to  silence  it. 

"Why,"  said  Mabel ;  and  then  stared  at  the  man  with 
the  young  face  and  the  white  hair. 

Oliver  opened  his  lips  and  closed  them  again.  He,  too, 
had  a  strange  excitement  in  his  face.     Then  he  spoke. 

"Who  is  this.!^"  he  said  deliberateh'. 

"Oliver,"  cried  the  girl,  turning  to  him  abruptly,  "this  is 
the  priest  I  saw " 

"A  priest !"  said  the  other,  and  came  forward  a  step. 
"Why,  I  thought " 

Percy  drew  a  breath  to  steady  that  maddening  vibration 
in  his  throat. 

"Yes,  I  am  a  priest,"  he  said. 

Again  the  whimpering  broke  out  from  the  bed;  and 
Percy,  half  turning  again  to  silence  it,  saw  the  girl  me- 
chanically loosen  the  clasp  of  the  thin  dust  cloak  over  her 
white  dress. 

"You  sent  for  him,  mother.''"  snapped  the  man,  with  a 
tremble  in  his  voice,  and  with  a  sudden  jerk  forward  of  his 
wliolc  body.     But  the  girl  put  out  her  hand. 

"Quietly,  my  dear,"  she  said.     "Now,  sir " 


THE  ADVENT  81 

"Yes,  I  am  a  priest,"  said  Percy  again,  strung  up  now  to 
a  desperate  resistance  of  will,  hardly  knowing  what  he  said. 

"And  you  come  to  my  house !"  exclaimed  the  man.  He 
came  a  step  nearer,  and  half  recoiled.  "You  swear  you 
are  a  priest.'"'  he  said.  "You  have  been  here  all  this 
evening  ?" 

"Since  midnight." 

"And  you  are  not "  he  stopped  again. 

Mabel  stepped  straight  between  them. 

"Oliver,"  she  said,  still  with  that  air  of  suppressed  excite- 
ment, "we  must  not  have  a  scene  here.  The  poor  dear  is  too 
ill.     Will  you  come  downstairs,  sir.-^" 

Percy  took  a  step  towards  the  door,  and  Oliver  moved 
slightly  aside.  Then  the  priest  stopped,  turned  and  lifted 
his  hand. 

"God  bless  you !"  he  said  simply,  to  the  muttering  figure 
ii-  the  bed.     Then  he  went  out,  and  waited  outside  the  door. 

He  could  hear  a  low  talking  within ;  then  a  compassionate 
murmur  from  the  girl's  voice ;  then  Oliver  was  beside  him, 
trembling  all  over,  as  white  as  ashes,  and  made  a  silent  ges- 
ture as  he  went  past  him  down  the  stairs. 

The  whole  thing  seemed  to  Percy  like  some  incredible 
dream ;  it  was  all  so  unexpected,  so  untrue  to  life.  He 
felt  conscious  of  an  enormous  shame  at  the  sordidness  of 
the  affair,  and  at  the  same  time  of  a  kind  of  hopeless  reck- 
lessness. The  worst  had  happened  and  the  best — that  was 
his  sole  comfort. 

Oliver  pushed  a  door  open,  touched  a  button,  and  went 
through  into  the  suddenly  lit  room,  followed  by  Percy. 
Still  in  silence,  he  pointed  to  a  chair,     Percy  sat  down,  and 


82  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

Oliver  stood  before  tlie  fireplace,  his  hands  deep  in  tlie 
pockets  of  his  jacket,  sHghtly  turned  away. 

Percy's  concentrated  senses  became  aware  of  every  detail 
of  the  room — the  deep  springy  green  carpet,  smooth  under 
his  feet,  the  straight  hanging  thin  silk  curtains,  the  half- 
dozen  low  tables  with  a  wealth  of  flowers  upon  them,  and 
the  books  that  lined  the  walls.  The  whole  room  was  heavy 
with  the  scent  of  roses,  although  the  windows  were  wide, 
and  the  night-breeze  stirred  the  curtains  continually.  It 
was  a  woman's  room,  he  told  himself.  Then  he  looked  at 
the  man's  figure,  lithe,  tense,  upright ;  the  dark  grey  suit 
not  unlike  his  own,  the  beautiful  curve  of  the  jaw,  the  clear 
pale  complexion,  the  thin  nose,  the  protruding  curve  of 
idealism  over  the  eyes,  and  the  dark  hair.  It  was  a  poet's 
face,  he  told  himself,  and  the  whole  personality  was  a 
living  and  vivid  one.  Then  he  turned  a  little  and  rose  as 
the  door  opened,  and  Mabel  came  in,  closing  it  behind 
her. 

She  came  straight  across  to  her  husband,  and  put  a  hand 
on  his  shoulder. 

"Sit  down,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "We  must  talk  a  little. 
Please  sit  down,  sir." 

The  three  sat  down,  Percy  on  one  side,  and  the  husband 
and  wife  on  a  straight-backed  settle  opposite. 

The  girl  began  again. 

*'This  must  be  arranged  at  once,"  she  said,  "but  we  must 
have  no  tragedy.  Oliver,  do  you  understand?  You  must 
not  make  a  scene.    Leave  this  to  me." 

She  spoke  with  a  curious  gaiety ;  and  Percy  to  his  aston- 
ishment saw  that  she  was  quite  sincere :  there  was  not  the 
hint  of  cynicism. 


THE  ADVENT  83 

"Oliver,  my  dear,"  she  said  again,  "don't  mouth  hke  that ! 
It  is  all  perfectly  right.     I  am  going  to  manage  this." 

Percy  saw  a  venomous  look  directed  at  him  by  the  man ; 
the  girl  saw  it  too,  moving  her  strong  humorous  eyes  from 
one  to  the  other.     She  put  her  hand  on  his  knee. 

"Oliver,  attend !  Don't  look  at  this  gentleman  so  bitterly. 
He  has  done  no  harm." 

"No  harm!"  whispered  the  other. 

"No — no  harm  in  the  world.  What  does  it  matter  what 
that  poor  dear  upstairs  thinks  ?  Now,  sir,  would  you  mind 
telling  us  why  you  came  here?" 

Percy  drew  another  breath.  He  had  not  expected  this 
line. 

"I  came  here  to  receive  Mrs.  Brand  back  into  the  Church," 
he  said. 

"And  you  have  done  so.'"' 

"I  have  done  so." 

"Would  you  mind  telling  us  your  name?  It  makes  It  so 
much  more  convenient." 

Percy  hesitated.  Then  he  determined  to  meet  her  on  her 
own  ground. 

"Certainly.     My  name  is  Franklin." 

"Father  Franklin?"  asked  the  girl,  with  just  the  faintest 
tinge  of  mocking  emphasis  on  the  first  word. 

"Yes.  Father  Percy  Franklin,  from  Archbishop's  House, 
Westminster,"  said  the  priest  steadily. 

"Well,  then.  Father  Percy  Franklin ;  can  you  tell  us  why 
you  came  here?    I  mean,  who  sent  for  you?" 

"Mrs.  Brand  sent  for  me." 

"Yes,  but  by  what  means?" 

"That  I  must  not  say." 


84.  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"Oh,  very  good.  .  .  .  May  we  know  what  good  comes  of 
being  'received  into  the  Church?'  " 

"By  being  received  into  the  Church,  the  soul  is  reconciled 
to  God." 

"Oh!  (OHver,  be  quiet.)  And  how  do  you  do  it,  Father 
Franklin?" 

Percy  stood  up  abruptly. 

"This  is  no  good,  madam,"  he  said.  "What  is  the  use 
of  these  questions  ?" 

The  girl  looked  at  him  in  open-eyed  astonishment,  still 
with  her  hand  on  her  husband's  knee. 

"The  use,  Father  Franklin !  Why,  we  want  to  know. 
There  is  no  church  law  against  your  telling  us,  is  there?" 

Percy  hesitated  again.  He  did  not  understand  in  the 
least  what  she  was  after.  Then  he  saw  that  he  would  give 
them  an  advantage  if  he  lost  his  head  at  all :  so  he  sat  down 
again. 

"Certainly  not.  I  will  tell  you  if  you  wish  to  know.  I 
heard  Mrs.  Brand's  confession,  and  gave  her  absolution." 

"Oh  !  yes ;  and  that  does  it,  then  ?    And  what  next  ?" 

"She  ought  to  receive  Holy  Communion,  and  anointing, 
if  she  is  in  danger  of  death." 

Oliver  twitched  suddenly. 

"Christ !"  he  said  softly. 

"Oliver !"  cried  the  girl  entreatingly.  "Please  leave  this 
to  nic.  It  is  much  better  so. — And  then,  I  suppose.  Father 
Franklin,  you  want  to  give  those  other  things  to  my 
mother,  too?" 

"They  are  not  absolutely  necessary,"  said  the  priest,  feel- 
ing, he  did  not  know  why,  that  he  was  somehow  playing  a 
losing  game. 


THE  ADVENT  85 

"Oh !  they  are  not  necessary  ?     But  you  would  like  to  ?" 

"I  shall  do  so  if  possible.  But  I  have  done  what  is  neces- 
sary." 

It  required  all  his  will  to  keep  quiet.  He  was  as  a  man 
who  had  armed  himself  in  steel,  only  to  find  that  his  enemy 
was  in  the  form  of  a  subtle  vapour.  He  simply  had  not  an 
idea  what  to  do  next.  He  would  have  given  anything  for 
the  man  to  have  risen  and  flown  at  his  throat,  for  this  girl 
was  too  much  for  them  both. 

"Yes,"  she  said  softly.  "Well,  it  is  hardly  to  be  expected 
that  my  husband  should  give  you  leave  to  come  here  again. 
But  I  am  very  glad  that  you  have  done  what  you  think 
necessary.  No  doubt  it  will  be  a  satisfaction  to  you,  Father 
Franklin,  and  to  the  poor  old  thing  upstairs,  too.  While 
we — ijae — "  she  pressed  her  husband's  knee — "we  do  not 
mind  at  all.    Oh ! — but  there  is  one  thing  more." 

"If  you  please,"  said  Percy,  wondering  what  on  earth  was 
coming. 

"You  Christians — forgive  me  if  I  say  anj^thing  rude — 
but,  you  know,  you  Christians  have  a  reputation  for  count- 
ing heads,  and  making  the  most  of  converts.  We  shall  be 
so  much  obliged,  Father  Franklin,  if  you  will  give  us  your 
word  not  to  advertise  this — this  incident.  It  would  distress 
my  husband,  and  give  him  a  great  deal  of  trouble." 

"Mrs.  Brand — "  began  the  priest. 

"One  moment.  .  .  .  You  see,  we  have  not  treated  you 
badly.  There  has  been  no  violence.  We  will  promise  not 
to  make  scenes  with  my  mother.    Will  you  promise  us  that.?" 

Percy  had  had  time  to  consider,  and  he  answered  instantly. 

"Certainly,  I  will  promise  that." 

Mabel  sighed  contentedly. 


86  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"Well,  that  is  all  right.  We  are  so  much  obliged.  .  .  . 
And  I  think  we  may  say  this,  that  perhaps  after  considera- 
tion my  husband  may  see  his  way  to  letting  you  come  here 
again  to  do  Communion  and — and  the  other  thing " 

Again  that  spasm  shook  the  man  beside  her. 

*'Well,  we  will  see  about  that.  At  any  rate,  we  know  your 
address,  and  can  let  you  know.  .  .  .  By  the  way,  Father 
Franklin,  are  you  going  back  to  Westminster  to-night?" 

He  bowed. 

*'Ah!  I  hope  j^ou  will  get  through.  You  will  find  Lon- 
don very  much  excited.     Perhaps  you  heard " 

"Felsenburgh  .f*"  said  Percy. 

"Yes.  Julian  Felsenburgh,"  said  the  girl  softly,  again 
with  that  strange  excitement  suddenly  alight  in  her  eyes. 
"Julian  Felsenburgh,"  she  repeated.  "He  is  there,  you 
know.     He  will  stay  in  England  for  the  present." 

Again  Percy  was  conscious  of  that  slight  touch  of  fear  at 
the  mention  of  that  name. 

"I  understand  there  is  to  be  peace,"  he  said. 

The  girl  rose  and  her  husband  with  her. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  almost  compassionately,  "there  is  to  be 
peace.  Peace  at  last."  (She  moved  half  a  step  towards 
him,  and  her  face  glowed  like  a  rose  of  fire.  Her  hand 
rose  a  little. )  "Go  back  to  London,  Father  Franklin,  and 
use  your  eyes.  You  will  see  him,  I  dare  say,  and  you  will 
see  more  besides."  (Her  voice  began  to  vibrate.)  "And 
you  will  understand,  perhaps,  why  we  have  treated  you  like 
this — why  we  are  no  longer  afraid  of  you — why  we  are 
willing  that  my  mother  should  do  as  she  pleases.  Oh! 
you  will  understand.  Father  Franklin — if  not  to-night,  to- 
morrow ;  or  if  not  to-morrow,  at  least  in  a  very  short  time." 


THE  ADVENT  87 

"Mabel!"  cried  her  husband. 

The  girl  wheeled,  and  threw  her  arms  round  him,  and 
kissed  him  on  the  mouth. 

"Oh!  I  am  not  ashamed,  Oliver,  my  dear.  Let  him  go 
and  see  for  himself.     Good-night,  Father  Franklin." 

As  he  went  towards  the  door,  hearing  the  ping  of  the  bell 
that  some  one  touched  in  the  room  behind  him,  he  turned 
once  more,  dazed  and  bewildered;  and  there  were  the  two, 
husband  and  wife,  standing  in  the  soft,  sunny  light,  as  if 
transfigured.  The  girl  had  her  arm  round  the  man's 
shoulder,  and  stood  upright  and  radiant  as  a  pillar  of  fire ; 
and  even  on  the  man's  face  there  was  no  anger  now — noth- 
ing but  an  almost  supernatural  pride  and  confidence.  They 
were  both  smiling. 

Then  Percy  passed  out  into  the  soft,  summer  night. 


II 


Percy  understood  nothing  except  that  he  was  afraid,  as 
he  sat  in  the  crowded  car  that  whirled  him  up  to  London. 
He  scarcely  even  heard  the  talk  round  him,  although  it  was 
loud  and  continuous  ;  and  what  he  heard  meant  little  to  him. 
He  understood  only  that  there  had  been  strange  scenes,  that 
London  was  said  to  have  gone  suddenly  mad,  that  Felsen- 
burgh  had  spoken  that  night  in  Paul's  House. 

He  was  afraid  at  the  way  in  which  he  had  been  treated, 
and  he  asked  himself  dully  again  and  again  what  it  was 
that  had  inspired  that  treatment;  it  seemed  that  he  had 
been  in  the  presence  of  the  supernatural ;  he  was  conscious 
of  shivering  a  little,  and  of  the  symptoms  of  an  intolerable 


88  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

sleepiness.  It  was  scarcely  strange  to  him  that  he  should 
be  sitting  in  a  crowded  car  at  two  o'clock  of  a  summer  dawn. 

Thrice  the  car  stopped,  and  he  stared  out  at  the  signs  of 
confusion  that  were  everywhere ;  at  the  figures  that  ran  in 
the  twilight  between  the  tracks,  at  a  couple  of  wrecked  car- 
riages, a  tumble  of  tarpaulins ;  he  listened  mechanically  to 
the  hoots  and  cries  that  sounded  everywhere. 

As  he  stepped  out  at  last  on  to  the  platform,  he  found 
it  very  much  as  he  had  left  it  two  hours  before.  There  was 
the  same  desperate  rush  as  the  car  discharged  its  load,  the 
same  dead  body  beneath  the  seat ;  and  above  all,  as  he  ran 
helplessly  behind  the  crowd,  scarcely  knowing  whither  he 
ran  or  why,  above  him  burned  the  same  stupendous  message 
beneath  the  clock.  Then  he  found  himself  in  the  lift,  and 
a  minute  later  he  was  out  on  the  steps  behind  the  station. 

There,  too,  was  an  astonishing  sight.  The  lamps  still 
burned  overhead,  but  beyond  them  lay  the  first  pale  streaks 
of  the  false  dawn.  The  street  that  ran  now  straight  to  the 
old  royal  palace,  uniting  there,  as  at  the  centre  of  a  web, 
with  those  that  came  from  Westminster,  the  Mall  and  Hyde 
Park,  was  one  sohd  pavement  of  heads.  On  this  side  and 
that  rose  up  the  hotels  and  "Houses  of  Joy,"  the  windows 
all  ablaze  with  light,  solemn  and  triumphant  as  if  to  wel- 
come a  king;  while  far  ahead  against  the  sky  stood  the 
monstrous  palace  outlined  in  fire,  and  alight  from  within 
like  all  other  houses  within  view.  The  noise  was  bewilder- 
ing. It  was  impossible  to  distinguish  one  sound  from  an- 
other. Voices,  horns,  drums,  the  tramp  of  a  thousand  foot- 
steps on  the  rubber  pavements,  the  sombre  roll  of  wheels 
from  the  station  behind — all  united  in  one  overwhelmingly 
solemn  booming,  overscored  by  shriller  notes. 


THE  ADVENT  89 

It  was  impossible  to  move. 

He  found  himself  standing  in  a  position  of  extraordinary 
advantage,  at  the  very  top  of  the  broad  flight  of  steps 
that  led  down  into  the  old  station  yard,  now  a  wide  space 
that  united,  on  the  left  the  broad  road  to  the  palace, 
and  on  the  right  Victoria  Street,  that  showed  like  all  else  one 
vivid  perspective  of  lights  and  heads.  Against  the  sky  on 
his  right  rose  up  the  illuminated  head  of  the  Cathedral  Cam- 
panile. It  appeared  to  him  as  if  he  had  known  that  in  some 
previous  existence. 

He  edged  himself  mechanically  a  foot  or  two  to  his  left, 
till  he  clasped  a  pillar ;  then  he  waited,  trying  not  to  analyse 
his  emotions,  but  to  absorb  them. 

Gradually  he  became  aware  that  this  crowd  was  as  no 
other  that  he  had  ever  seen.  To  his  psychical  sense  it 
seemed  to  him  that  it  possessed  a  unity  unlike  any  other. 
There  was  magnetism  in  the  air.  There  was  a  sensation 
as  if  a  creative  act  were  in  process,  whereby  thousands  of 
individual  cells  were  being  welded  more  and  more  perfectly 
every  instant  into  one  huge  sentient  being  with  one  will, 
one  emotion,  and  one  head.  The  crying  of  voices  seemed 
significant  only  as  the  stirrings  of  this  creative  power  which 
so  expressed  itself.  Here  rested  this  giant  humanity, 
stretching  to  his  sight  in  living  limbs  so  far  as  he  could 
see  on  every  side,  waiting,  waiting  for  some  consummation 
— stretching,  too,  as  his  tired  brain  began  to  guess,  down 
every  thoroughfare  of  the  vast  city. 

He  did  not  even  ask  himself  for  what  they  waited.  He 
knew,  3'et  he  did  not  know.  He  knew  it  was  for  a  revelation 
— for  something  that  should  crown  their  aspirations,  and 
fix  them  so  for  ever. 


90  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

He  had  a  sense  that  he  had  seen  all  this  before ;  and,  like 
a  child,  he  began  to  ask  himself  where  it  could  have  hap- 
pened, until  he  remembered  that  it  was  so  that  he  had  once 
dreamt  of  the  Judgment  Day — of  humanity  gathered  to 
meet  Jesus  Christ — Jesus  Christ !  Ah !  how  tiny  that  Fig- 
ure seemed  to  him  now — how  far  away — real  indeed,  but 
insignificant  to  himself — how  hopelessly  apart  from  this 
tremendous  life !  He  glanced  up  at  the  Campanile.  Yes ; 
there  was  a  piece  of  the  True  Cross  there,  was  there  not  ? — 
a  little  piece  of  the  wood  on  which  a  Poor  Man  had  died 
twenty  centuries  ago.  .  .  .  Well,  well.  It  was  a  long  way 
off.  .   .    . 

He  did  not  quite  understand  what  was  happening  to  him. 
"Sweet  Jesus,  be  to  me  not  a  Judge  but  a  Saviour,"  he 
whispered  beneath  his  breath,  gripping  the  granite  of  the 
pillar ;  and  a  moment  later  knew  how  futile  was  that  prayer. 
It  was  gone  like  a  breath  in  this  vast,  vivid  atmosphere  of 
man.  He  had  said  mass,  had  he  not?  this  morning — in 
white  vestments. — Yes ;  he  had  believed  it  all  then — des- 
perately, but  truly :  and  now.   .    .    . 

To  look  into  the  future  was  as  useless  as  to  look  into  the 
past.  There  was  no  future,  and  no  past :  it  was  all  one 
eternal  instant,  present  and  final.    .    .    . 

Then  he  let  go  of  effort,  and  again  began  to  see  with  his 
bodily  eyes. 

The  dawn  was  coming  up  the  sky  now,  a  steady 
soft  brightening  that  appeared  in  spite  of  its  sover- 
eignty to  be  as  nothing  compared  with  the  brilliant 
light  of  the  streets.  "We  jiccd  no  sun,"  he  whispered, 
smiling  piteously ;   "no   sun   or  light  of   a   candle.      We 


THE  ADVENT  91 

have  our  light  on  earth — the  hght  that  lighteneth  every 
man.    ..." 

The  Campanile  seemed  further  away  than  ever  now,  in 
that  ghostly  glimmer  of  dawn — more  and  more  helpless 
every  moment,  compared  with  the  beautiful  vivid  shining 
of  the  streets. 

Then  he  listened  to  the  sounds,  and  it  seemed  to  him  as  if 
somewhere,  far  down  eastwards,  there  was  a  silence  begin- 
ning. He  jerked  his  head  impatiently,  as  a  man  behind  him 
began  to  talk  rapidly  and  confusedly.  Why  would  he  not 
be  silent,  and  let  silence  be  heard.'*  .  .  .  The  man  stopped 
presently,  and  out  of  the  distance  there  swelled  up  a  roar, 
as  soft  as  the  roll  of  a  summer  tide ;  it  passed  up  towards 
him  from  the  right ;  it  was  about  him,  dinning  in  his  ears. 
There  was  no  longer  any  individual  voice:  it  was  the 
breathing  of  the  giant  that  had  been  born ;  he  was  crying 
out  too ;  he  did  not  know  what  he  said,  but  he  could  not 
be  silent.  His  veins  and  nerves  seemed  alight  with  wine; 
and  as  he  stared  down  the  long  street,  hearing  the  huge 
cry  ebb  from  him  and  move  toward  the  palace,  he  knew 
why  he  had  cried,  and  why  he  was  now  silent. 

A  slender,  fish-shaped  thing,  as  white  as  milk,  as  ghostly 
as  a  shadow,  and  as  beautiful  as  the  dawn,  slid  into  sight 
half-a-mile  away,  turned  and  came  towards  him,  floating, 
as  it  seemed,  on  the  very  wave  of  silence  that  it  created,  up, 
up  the  long  curving  street  on  outstretched  wings,  not 
twenty  feet  above  the  heads  of  the  crowd.  There  was  one 
great  sigh,  and  then  silence  once  more. 

When  Percy  could  think  consciously  again — for  his  will 
was  only  capable  of  efforts  as  a  clock  of  ticks — the  strange 


92  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

white  thing  was  nearer.  He  told  himself  that  he  had  seen 
a  hundred  such  before;  and  at  the  same  instant  that  this 
was  different  from  all  others. 

Then  it  was  nearer  still,  floating  slowly,  slowly,  like  a 
gull  over  the  sea ;  he  could  make  out  its  smooth  nose,  its 
low  parapet  beyond,  the  steersman's  head  motionless ;  he 
could  even  hear  now  the  soft  winnowing  of  the  screw — 
and  then  he  saw  that  for  which  he  had  waited. 

High  on  the  central  deck  there  stood  a  chair,  draped,  too, 
in  white,  with  some  insignia  visible  above  its  back;  and  in 
the  chair  sat  the  figure  of  a  man,  motionless  and  lonely. 
He  made  no  sign  as  he  came ;  his  dark  dress  showed  vivid- 
edly  against  the  whiteness ;  his  head  was  raised,  and  he 
turned  it  gently  now  and  again  from  side  to  side. 

It  came  nearer  still,  in  the  profound  stillness ;  the  head 
turned,  and  for  an  instant  the  face  was  plainly  visible  in 
the  soft,  radiant  light. 

It  was  a  pale  face,  strongly  marked,  as  of  a  young  man, 
with  arched,  black  eyebrows,  thin  lips,  and  white  hair. 

Then  the  face  turned  once  more,  the  steersman  shifted 
his  head,  and  the  beautiful  shape,  wheeling  a  little,  passed 
the  corner,  and  moved  up  towards  the  palace. 

There  was  an  hysterical  yelp  somewhere,  a  cry,  and  again 
the  tempestuous  groan  broke  out. 


BOOK   II— THE   ENCOUNTER 


CHAPTER  I 


Oliver  Brand  was  seated  at  his  desk,  on  the  evening  of 
the  next  day,  reading  the  leading  article  of  the  New  People, 
evening  edition. 

"We  have  had  time,"  he  read,  "to  recover  ourselves  a  little 
from  the  intoxication  of  last  night.  Before  embarking  on 
prophecy,  it  will  be  as  well  to  recall  the  facts.  Up 
to  yesterday  evening  our  anxiety  with  regard  to  the  Eastern 
crisis  continued ;  and  when  twenty-one  o'clock  struck  there 
were  not  more  than  forty  persons  in  London — the  English 
delegates,  that  is  to  say — who  knew  positively  that  the 
danger  was  over.  Between  that  moment  and  half-an-hour 
later  the  Government  took  a  few  discreet  steps :  a  select 
number  of  persons  were  informed;  the  police  were  called 
out,  with  half-a-dozen  regiments,  to  preserve  order ;  Paul's 
House  was  cleared  ;  the  railroad  companies  were  warned;  and 
at  the  half  hour  precisely  the  announcement  was  made  by 
means  of  the  electric  placards  in  every  quarter  of  London, 
as  well  as  in  all  large  provincial  towns.  We  have  not  space 
now  to  adequately  describe  the  admirable  manner  in  which 
the  public  authorities  did  their  duty;  it  is  enough  to  say 
that  not  more  than  seventy  fatalities  took  place  in  the  whole 
of  London ;  nor  is  it  our  business  to  criticise  the  action  of 
the  Government,  in  choosing  this  mode  of  making  the  an- 
nouncement. 

"By  twenty-two  o'clock  Paul's  House  was  filled  in  every 
corner,  the  Old  Choir  was  reserved  for  members  of  Parlia- 


94s  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

ment  and  public  officials,  the  quarter-dome  galleries  were 
filled  with  ladles,  and  to  the  rest  of  the  floor  the  public  was 
freely  admitted.  The  volor-pollce  also  inform  us  now  that 
for  about  the  distance  of  one  mile  In  every  direction  round 
this  centre  every  thoroughfare  was  blocked  with  pedes- 
trians, and,  two  hours  later,  as  we  all  know,  practically  all 
the  main  streets  of  the  whole  of  London  were  in  the  same 
condition. 

"It  was  an  excellent  choice  by  which  Mr.  Oliver  Brand 
was  selected  as  the  first  speaker.  His  arm  was  still  in 
bandages ;  and  the  appeal  of  his  figure  as  well  as  his  pas- 
sionate words  struck  the  first  explicit  note  of  the  evening. 
A  report  of  his  words  will  be  found  in  another  column. 
Li  their  turns,  the  Prime  Minister,  Mr.  Snowford,  the 
First  Minister  of  the  Admiralty,  the  Secretary  for 
Eastern  Affairs,  and  Lord  Pemberton,  all  spoke  a  few 
words,  corroborating  the  extraordinary  news.  At  a  quarter 
before  twenty-three,  the  noise  of  cheering  outside  an- 
nounced the  arrival  of  the  American  delegates  from  Paris, 
and  one  by  one  these  ascended  the  platform  by  the  south 
gates  of  the  Old  Choir.  Each  spoke  in  turn.  It  is  im- 
possible to  appreciate  words  spoken  at  such  a  moment  as 
this ;  but  perhaps  it  is  not  invidious  to  name  Mr.  Markham 
as  the  orator  who  above  all  others  appealed  to  those  who 
were  privileged  to  hear  him.  It  was  he,  too,  who  told  us 
explicitly  what  others  had  merely  mentioned,  to  the  effect 
that  the  success  of  the  American  efforts  was  entirely  due  to 
Mr.  Julian  Felsenburgh.  As  j'et  Mr.  Felsenburgh 
had  not  arrived;  but  In  answer  to  a  roar  of  Inquiry,  Mr. 
Markham  announced  that  this  gentleman  would  be  amongst 
them  In  a  few  minutes.  He  then  proceeded  to  describe  to 
us,  so  far  as  was  possible  in  a  few  sentences,  the  methods 
by  which  Mr.  Felsenburgh  had  accomplished  what  is 
probably  the  most  astonishing  task  known  to  history.  It 
seems  from  his  words  that  Mr.  Felsenburgh  (whose 
biography,  so  far  as  it  is  known,  we  give  In  another  column) 
is  probably  the  greatest  orator  that  the  world  has  ever 


THE  ENCOUNTER  95 

known — we  use  these  words  deliberately.  All  languages 
seem  the  same  to  him ;  he  delivered  speeches  during  the  eight 
months  through  which  the  Eastern  Convention  lasted,  in  no 
less  than  fifteen  tongues.  Of  his  manner  in  speaking  we 
shall  have  a  few  remarks  to  make  presently.  He  showed 
also,  Mr.  Markham  told  us,  the  most  astonishing  knowl- 
edge, not  only  of  human  nature,  but  of  every  trait  under 
which  that  divine  thing  manifests  itself.  He  appeared 
acquainted  with  the  history,  the  prejudices,  the  fears,  the 
hopes,  the  expectations  of  all  the  innumerable  sects  and 
castes  of  the  East  to  whom  it  was  his  business  to  speak.  In 
fact,  as  Mr.  Markham  said,  he  is  probably  the  first  perfect 
product  of  that  new  cosmopolitan  creation  to  which  the 
world  has  laboured  throughout  its  history.  In  no  less  than 
nine  places — Damascus,  Irkutsk,  Constantinople,  Calcutta, 
Benares,  Nanking,  among  them — he  was  hailed  as  Messiah 
by  a  Mohammedan  mob.  Finally,  in  America,  where  this 
extraordinary  figure  has  arisen,  all  speak  well  of  him.  He 
has  been  guilty  of  none  of  those  crimes — there  is  not  one 
that  convicts  him  of  sin — those  crimes  of  the  Yellow  Press, 
of  corruption,  of  commercial  or  political  bullying  which 
have  so  stained  the  past  of  all  those  old  politicians  who 
made  the  sister  continent  what  she  has  become.  Mr.  Fel- 
SENBURGH  has  not  even  formed  a  party.  He,  and  not  his 
underlings,  have  conquered.  Those  who  were  present  in 
Paul's  House  on  this  occasion  will  understand  us  when  we 
say  that  the  effect  of  those  words  was  indescribable. 

"When  Mr.  Markham  sat  down,  there  was  a  silence ;  then, 
in  order  to  quiet  the  rising  excitement,  the  organist  struck 
the  first  chords  of  the  Masonic  Hymn ;  the  words  were  taken 
up,  and  presently  not  only  the  whole  interior  of  the  build- 
ing rang  with  it,  but  outside,  too,  the  people  responded, 
and  the  city  of  London  for  a  few  moments  became  indeed  a 
temple  of  the  Lord. 

"Now  indeed  we  come  to  the  most  difficult  part  of  our  task, 
and  it  is  better  to  confess  at  once  that  anything  resem- 
bling  journalistic   descriptiveness  must  be  resolutely   laid 


96  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

aside.     The  greatest  things  are  best  told  in  the  simplest 
words. 

"Towards  the  close  of  the  fourth  verse,  a  figure  in  a  plain 
dark  suit  was  observed  ascending  the  steps  of  the  plat- 
form. For  a  moment  this  attracted  no  attention,  but  when 
it  was  seen  that  a  sudden  movement  had  broken  out  among 
the  delegates,  the  singing  began  to  falter;  and  it  ceased 
altogether  as  the  figure,  after  a  slight  inclination  to  right 
and  left,  passed  up  the  further  steps  that  led  to  the  rostrum. 
Then  occurred  a  curious  incident.  The  organist  aloft  at 
first  did  not  seem  to  understand,  and  continued  playing,  but 
a  sound  broke  out  from  the  crowd  resembling  a  kind  of 
groan,  and  instantly  he  ceased.  But  no  cheering  followed. 
Instead  a  profound  silence  dominated  in  an  instant  the  huge 
throng ;  this,  by  some  strange  magnetism,  communicated 
itself  to  those  without  the  building,  and  when  Mr.  Felsen- 
BURGH  uttered  his  first  words,  it  was  in  a  stillness  that  was 
like  a  living  thing.  We  leave  the  explanation  of  this  phe- 
nomenon to  the  expert  in  psychology. 

"Of  his  actual  words  we  have  nothing  to  say.  So  far  as 
we  are  aware  no  reporter  made  notes  at  the  moment ;  but  the 
speech,  delivered  in  Esperanto,  was  a  very  simple  one,  and 
very  short.  It  consisted  of  a  brief  announcement  of  the 
great  fact  of  Universal  Brotherhood,  a  congratulation  to  all 
who  were  yet  alive  to  witness  this  consummation  of  history ; 
and,  at  the  end,  an  ascription  of  praise  to  that  Spirit  of 
the  World  whose  incarnation  was  now  accomplished. 

"So  much  we  can  say ;  but  we  can  say  nothing  as  to  the 
impression  of  the  personality  who  stood  there.  In  appear- 
ance the  man  seemed  to  be  about  thirty-three  years  of  age, 
clean-shaven,  upright,  with  white  hair  and  dark  eyes  and 
brows ;  he  stood  motionless  with  his  hands  on  the  rail,  he 
made  but  one  gesture  that  drew  a  kind  of  sob  from  the 
crowd,  he  spoke  these  words  slowly,  distinctly,  and  in  a 
clear  voice ;  then  he  stood  waiting. 

"There  was  no  response  but  a  sigh  which  sounded  in  the 
ears  of  at  least  one  who  heard  it  as  if  the  whole  world  drew 


THE  ENCOUNTER  97 

breath  for  the  first  time;  and  then  that  strange  heart- 
shaking  silence  fell  again.  Many  were  weeping  silently, 
the  lips  of  thousands  moved  without  a  sound,  and  all  faces 
were  turned  to  that  simple  figure,  as  if  the  hope  of  every 
soul  were  centred  there.  So,  if  we  may  believe  it,  the  eyes 
of  many,  centuries  ago,  were  turned  on  one  known  now  to 
history  as  Jesus  of  Nazareth. 

"Mr.  Felsenbukgh  stood  so  a  moment  longer,  then  he 
turned  down  the  steps,  passed  across  the  platform  and  dis- 
appeared. 

"Of  what  took  place  outside  we  have  received  the  following 
account  from  an  eye-witness.  The  white  volor,  so  well 
known  now  to  all  who  were  in  London  that  night,  had  re- 
mained stationary  outside  the  little  south  door  of  the  Old 
Choir  aisle,  poised  about  twenty  feet  above  the  ground. 
Gradually  it  became  known  to  the  crowd,  in  those  few  min- 
utes, who  it  was  who  had  arrived  in  it,  and  upon  Mr.  Fel- 
senburgh's  reappearance  that  same  strange  groan  sounded 
through  the  whole  length  of  Paul's  Churchyard,  followed 
by  the  same  silence.  The  volor  descended ;  the  master  stepped 
on  board,  and  once  more  the  vessel  rose  to  a  height 
of  twenty  feet.  It  was  thought  at  first  that  some  speech 
would  be  made,  but  none  was  necessary ;  and  after  a  mo- 
ment's pause,  the  volor  began  that  wonderful  parade  which 
London  will  never  forget.  Four  times  during  the  night  Mr. 
Felsenburgh  went  round  the  enormous  metropolis,  speak- 
ing no  word;  and  everywhere  the  groan  preceded  and  fol- 
lowed him,  while  silence  accompanied  his  actual  passage. 
Two  hours  after  sunrise  the  white  ship  rose  over  Hamp- 
stead  and  disappeared  towards  the  North ;  and  since  then 
he,  whom  we  call,  in  truth,  the  Saviour  of  the  world,  has 
not  been  seen, 

"And  now  what  remains  to  be  said.'' 

"Comment  is  useless.  It  is  enough  to  say  in  one  short 
sentence  that  the  new  era  has  begun,  to  which  prophets  and 
kings,  and  the  suffering,  the  dying,  all  who  labour  and  are 
heavy-laden,  have  aspired  in  vain.     Not  only  has  inter- 


98  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

continental  rivalry  ceased  to  exist,  but  the  strife  of  home 
dissensions  has  ceased  also.  Of  him  who  has  been  the  herald 
of  its  inauguration  we  have  nothing  more  to  say.  Time 
alone  can  show  what  is  yet  left  for  him  to  do. 

"But  what  has  been  done  is  as  follows.  The  Eastern  peril 
has  been  for  ever  dissipated.  It  is  understood  now,  by 
fanatic  barbarians  as  well  as  by  civilised  nations,  that  the 
reign  of  War  is  ended.  'Not  peace  but  a  sword,'  said 
Christ  ;  and  bitterly  true  have  those  words  proved  to  be. 
'Not  a  sword  but  peace'  is  the  retort,  articulate  at  last, 
from  those  who  have  renounced  Christ's  claims  or  have 
never  accepted  them.  The  principle  of  love  and  union 
learned  however  falteringly  in  the  West  during  the  last 
century,  has  been  taken  up  in  the  East  as  well.  There 
shall  be  no  more  an  appeal  to  arms,  but  to  justice ;  no  longer 
a  crying  after  a  God  Who  hides  Himself,  but  to  Man  who 
has  learned  his  own  Divinity.  The  Supernatural  is  dead; 
rather,  we  know  now  that  it  never  yet  has  been  alive.  What 
remains  is  to  work  out  this  new  lesson,  to  bring  every  ac- 
tion, word  and  thought  to  the  bar  of  Love  and  Justice; 
and  this  will  be,  no  doubt,  the  task  of  years.  Every  code 
must  be  reversed ;  every  barrier  thrown  down ;  party  must 
unite  with  party,  country  with  country,  and  continent  with 
continent.  There  is  no  longer  the  fear  of  fear,  the  dread 
of  the  hereafter,  or  the  p£.ralysis  of  strife.  Man  has 
groaned  long  enough  in  the  travails  of  birth ;  his  blood  has 
been  poured  out  like  water  through  his  own  foolishness ;  but 
at  length  he  understands  himself  and  is  at  peace. 

"Let  it  be  seen  at  least  that  England  is  not  behind  the 
nations  in  this  work  of  reformation ;  let  no  national  isola- 
tion, pride  of  race,  or  drunkenness  of  wealth  hold  her  hands 
back  from  this  enormous  work.  The  responsibility  is  in- 
calculable, but  the  victory  certain.  Let  us  go  softly,  hum- 
bled by  the  knowledge  of  our  crimes  in  the  past,  confident 
in  the  hope  of  our  achievements  in  the  future,  towards 
that  reward  which  is  in  sight  at  last — the  reward  hidden  so 
long  by  the  selfishness  of  men,  the  darkness  of  reUgion,  and 


THE  ENCOUNTER  99 

the  strife  of  tongues — the  reward  promised  by  one  who 
knew  not  what  he  said  and  denied  what  he  asserted — Blessed 
are  the  meek,  the  peacemakers,  the  merciful,  for  they  shall 
inherit  the  earth,  be  named  the  children  of  God,  and  find 
mercy." 

Oliver,  white  to  the  lips,  with  his  wife  kneeling  now  be- 
side him,  turned  the  page  and  read  one  more  short  para- 
graph, marked  as  being  the  latest  news. 

"It  is  understood  that  the  Government  is  in  communication 
with  Mr.  Felsenburgh." 

II 

"Ah!  it  is  journalese,"  said  Oliver,  at  last,  leaning  back. 
"Tawdry  stuff !    But— but  the  thing !" 

Mabel  got  up,  passed  across  to  the  window-seat,  and  sat 
down.    Her  lips  opened  once  or  twice,  but  she  said  nothing. 

"My  darling,"  cried  the  man,  "have  you  nothing  to  say.'"' 

She  looked  at  him  tremulously  a  moment. 

"Say!"  she  said.  "As  you  said,  What  is  the  use  of 
words  ?" 

"Tell  me  again,"  said  Oliver.  "How  do  I  know  it  is  not  a 
dream .''" 

"A  dream,"  she  said.    "Was  there  ever  a  dream  like  this.?" 

Again  she  got  up  restlessly,  came  across  the  floor,  and 
knelt  down  by  her  husband  once  more,  taking  his  hands  in 
hers. 

"ISIy  dear,"  she  said,  "I  tell  you  it  is  not  a  dream.  It 
is  reality  at  last.  I  was  there  too — do  you  not  remember? 
You  waited  for  me  when  all  was  over — when  He  was  gone 
out — we  saw  Him  together,  you  and  I.    We  heard  Him — 


100  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

you  on  the  platform  and  I  in  the  gallery.  We  saw  Him 
again  pass  up  the  Embankment  as  we  stood  in  the  crowd. 
Then  we  came  home — and  we  found  the  priest." 

Her  face  was  transfigured  as  she  spoke.  It  was  as  of  one 
who  saw  a  Divine  Vision.  She  spoke  very  quietly,  without 
excitement  or  hysteria.  Oliver  stared  at  her  a  moment; 
then  he  bent  forward  and  kissed  her  gently. 

"Yes,  my  darling ;  it  is  true.  But  I  want  to  hear  it  again 
and  again.     Tell  me  again  what  you  saw." 

"I  saw  the  Son  of  Man,"  she  said.  "Oh !  there  is  no  other 
phrase.  The  Saviour  of  the  world,  as  that  paper  says. 
I  knew  Him  in  my  heart  as  soon  as  I  saw  Him — as  we  all 
did — as  soon  as  He  stood  there  holding  the  rail.  It  was 
like  a  glory  round  his  head.  I  understand  it  all  now.  It 
was  He  for  whom  we  have  waited  so  long ;  and  He  has  come, 
bringing  Peace  and  Goodwill  in  His  hands.  When  He 
spoke,  I  knew  it  again.  His  voice  was  as — as  the  sound 
of  the  sea — as  simple  as  that — as — as  lamentable — as 
strong  as  that. — Did  you  not  hear  it.''" 

Oliver  bowed  his  head. 

"I  can  trust  Him  for  all  the  rest,"  went  on  the  girl  softly. 
"I  do  not  know  where  He  is,  nor  when  He  will  come  back, 
nor  what  He  will  do.  I  suppose  there  is  a  great  deal  for 
Him  to  do,  before  He  is  fully  known — laws,  reforms — 
that  will  be  your  business,  my  dear.  And  the  rest  of  us 
must  wait,  and  love,  and  be  content." 

Oliver  again  lifted  his  face  and  looked  at  her. 

"Mabel,  my  dear " 

"Oh !  I  knew  it  even  last  night,"  she  said,  "but  I  did 
not  know  that  I  knew  it  till  I  awoke  to-day  and  remembered. 
I  dreamed  of  Him  all  night.  .    .    .  Oliver,  where  is  He?" 


THE  ENCOUNTER  101 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Yes,  I  know  where  He  is,  but  I  am  under  oath " 

She  nodded  quickly,  and  stood  up. 

"Yes.  I  should  not  have  asked  that.  Well,  we  are  con- 
tent to  wait." 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment  or  two.     Oliver  broke  it. 

"My  dear,  what  do  you  mean  when  you  say  that  He  is  not 
yet  known.'"' 

"I  mean  just  that,"  she  said.  "The  rest  only  know  what 
He  has  done — not  what  He  is ;  but  that,  too,  will  come  in 
time." 

"And  meanwhile " 

"iMeanwhile,  you  must  work ;  the  rest  will  come  by  and 
bye.     Oh!    Oliver,  be  strong  and  faithful." 

She  kissed  him  quickly,  and  went  out. 

Oliver  sat  on  without  moving,  staring,  as  his  habit  was, 
out  at  the  wide  view  be^'ond  his  windows.  This  time  yes- 
terday he  was  leaving  Paris,  knowing  the  fact  indeed — for 
the  delegates  had  arrived  an  hour  before — but  ignorant  of 
the  Man.  Now  he  knew  the  INIan  as  well — at  least  he  had 
seen  Him,  heard  Him,  and  stood  enchanted  under  the  glow 
of  His  personality.  He  could  explain  it  to  himself  no  more 
than  could  any  one  else — unless,  perhaps,  it  were  IMabel. 
The  others  had  been  as  he  had  been:  awed  and  overcome, 
yet  at  the  same  time  kindled  in  the  very  depths  of  their 
souls.  They  had  come  out — Snowford,  Cartwright,  Pem- 
berton,  and  the  rest — on  to  the  steps  of  Paul's  House,  fol- 
lowing that  strange  figure.  They  had  intended  to  say 
something,  but  they  were  dumb  as  they  saw  the  sea  of  white 
faces,  heard  the  groan  and  the  silence,  and  experienced  that 


102  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

compelHng  wave  of  magnetism  that  surged  up  like  some- 
thing physical,  as  the  volor  rose  and  started  on  that  in- 
describable progress. 

Once  more  he  had  seen  Him,  as  he  and  Mabel  stood  to- 
gether on  the  deck  of  the  electric  boat  that  carried  them 
south.  The  white  ship  had  passed  along  overhead,  smooth 
and  steady,  above  the  heads  of  that  vast  multitude,  bear- 
ing Him  who,  if  any  had  the  right  to  that  title,  was  indeed 
the  Saviour  of  the  world.  Then  they  had  come  home,  and 
found  the  priest. 

That,  too,  had  been  a  shock  to  him;  for,  at  first  sight, 
it  seemed  that  this  priest  was  the  very  man  he  had  seen 
ascend  the  rostrum  two  hours  before.  It  was  an  extraordi- 
nary likeness — the  same  young  face  and  white  hair. 
Mabel,  of  course,  had  not  noticed  it ;  for  she  had  only  seen 
Felsenburgh  at  a  great  distance ;  and  he  himself  had  soon 
been  reassured.  And  as  for  his  mother — it  was  terrible 
enough ;  if  it  had  not  been  for  Mabel  there  would  have  been 
violence  done  last  night.  How  collected  and  reasonable  she 
had  been !  And,  as  for  his  mother — he  must  leave  her  alone 
for  the  present.  By  and  bye,  perhaps,  something  might  be 
done.  The  future!  It  was  that  which  engrossed  him — the 
future,  and  the  absorbing  power  of  the  personality 
under  whose  dominion  he  had  fallen  last  night.  All  else 
seemed  insignificant  now — even  his  mother's  defection,  her 
illness — all  paled  before  this  new  dawn  of  an  unknown  sun. 
And  in  an  hour  he  would  know  more;  he  was  summoned  to 
Westminster  to  a  meeting  of  the  whole  House ;  their  pro- 
posals to  Felsenburgh  were  to  be  formulated ;  it  was  in- 
tended to  offer  him  a  great  position. 

Yes,  as  Mabel  had  said ;  this  was  now  their  work — to  carry 


THE  ENCOUNTER  103 

into  effect  the  new  principle  that  had  suddenly  become  in- 
carnate in  this  grey-haired  young  American — the  principle 
of  Universal  Brotherhood.  It  would  mean  enormous  labour ; 
all  foreign  relations  would  have  to  be  readjusted — trade, 
policy,  methods  of  government — all  demanded  re-statement. 
Europe  was  already  organised  internally  on  a  basis  of 
riiutual  protection:  that  basis  was  now  gone.  There  was 
no  more  any  protection,  because  there  was  no  more  any 
menace.  Enormous  labour,  too,  awaited  the  Government 
in  other  directions.  A  Blue-book  must  be  prepared,  con- 
taining a  complete  report  of  the  proceedings  in  the  East, 
together  with  the  text  of  the  Treaty  which  had  been  laid 
before  them  in  Paris,  signed  by  the  Eastern  Emperor,  the 
feudal  kings,  the  Turkish  Republic,  and  countersigned  by 
the  American  plenipotentiaries.  .  .  .  Finally,  even  home 
politics  required  reform :  the  friction  of  old  strife  between 
centre  and  extremes  must  cease  forthwith — there  must  be 
but  one  party  now,  and  that  at  the  Prophet's  disposal.  .  .  . 
He  grew  be^dldered  as  he  regarded  the  prospect,  and  saw 
how  the  whole  plane  of  the  world  was  shifted,  how  the  entire 
foundation  of  western  life  required  readjustment.  It  was 
a  Revolution  indeed,  a  cataclysm  more  stupendous  than  even 
invasion  itself;  but  it  was  the  conversion  of  darkness  into 
light,  and  chaos  into  order. 
He  drew  a  deep  breath,  and  so  sat  pondering. 

Mabel  came  down  to  him  half-an-hour  later,  as  he  dined 
early  before  starting  for  Whitehall. 

"Mother  is  quieter,"  she  said.  "We  must  be  very  pa- 
tient, Oliver.  Have  you  decided  yet  as  to  whether  the  priest 
is  to  come  again.'"' 


104-  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

He  shook  his  head. 

"I  can  think  of  nothing,"  he  said,  "but  of  what  I  have  to 
do.     You  decide,  my  dear;  I  leave  it  in  your  hands." 

She  nodded. 

"I  will  talk  to  her  again  presently.  Just  now  she  can  un- 
derstand very  little  of  what  has  happened.  .  ,  .  What  time 
shall  you  be  home?" 

"Probably  not  to-night.    We  shall  sit  all  night." 

"Yes,  dear.     And  what  shall  I  tell  Mr.  Phillips.?" 

"I  will  telephone  in  the  morning.  .  .  .  Mabel,  do  you  re- 
member what  I  told  you  about  the  priest?" 

"His  likeness  to  the  other?" 

"Yes.     What  do  you  make  of  that.?" 

She  smiled. 

"I  make  nothing  at  all  of  it.  Why  should  they  not  be 
alike?" 

He  took  a  fig  from  the  dish,  and  swallowed  it,  and  stood 
up. 

"It  is  only  very  curious,"  he  said.  "Now,  good-night,  my 
dear." 


Ill 


"Oh,  mother,"  said  Mabel,  kneeling  by  the  bed;  "cannot 
you  understand  what  has  happened?" 

She  had  tried  desperately  to  tell  the  old  lady  of  the 
extraordinary  change  that  had  taken  place  in  the  world — 
and  without  success.  It  seemed  to  her  that  some  great 
issue  depended  on  it;  that  it  would  be  piteous  if  the  old 
woman  went  out  into  the  dark  unconscious  of  what  had 
come.     It  was  as  if  a  Christian  knelt  by  the  death-bed 


THE  ENCOUNTER  105 

of  a  Jew  on  the  first  Easter  Monday.  But  the  old  lady 
lay  in  her  bed,  terrified  but  obdurate. 

"Mother,"  said  the  girl,  "let  me  tell  you  again.  Do  you 
not  understand  that  all  which  Jesus  Christ  promised  has 
come  true,  though  in  another  way  ?  The  reign  of  God  has 
really  begun ;  but  we  know  now  who  God  is.  You  said  just 
now  you  wanted  the  Forgiveness  of  Sins;  well,  you  have 
that ;  we  all  have  it,  because  there  is  no  such  thing  as  sin. 
There  is  only  Crime.  And  then  Communion.  You  used  to 
believe  that  that  made  you  a  partaker  of  God ;  well,  we  are 
all  partakers  of  God,  because  we  are  human  beings.  Don't 
you  see  that  Christianity  is  only  one  way  of  saying  all 
that  ?  I  dare  say  it  was  the  only  way,  for  a  time ;  but  that 
is  all  over  now.  Oh !  and  how  much  better  this  is !  It  is 
true — true.     You  can  see  it  to  be  true !" 

She  paused  a  moment,  forcing  herself  to  look  at  that 
piteous  old  face,  the  flushed  wrinkled  cheeks,  the  writhing 
knotted  hands  on  the  coverlet. 

"Look  how  Christianity  has  failed — how  it  has  divided 
people;  think  of  all  the  cruelties — the  Inquisition,  the  Re- 
ligious Wars ;  the  separations  between  husband  and  wife 
and  parents  and  children — the  disobedience  to  the  State,  the 
treasons.  Oh !  you  cannot  believe  that  these  were  right. 
What  kind  of  a  God  would  that  be !  And  then  Hell ;  how 
could  you  ever  have  believed  in  that.''  .  .  .  Oh!  mother, 
don't  believe  anything  so  frightful.  .  .  .  Don't  you  under- 
stand that  that  God  has  gone — that  He  never  existed  at 
all — that  it  was  all  a  hideous  nightmare ;  and  that  now  we 
all  know  at  last  what  the  truth  is.  .  .  .  Mother!  think  of 
what  happened  last  night — how  He  came — the  INIan  of 
whom  you  were  so  frightened.     I  told  you  what  He  was 


106  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

like — so  quiet  and  strong — how  every  one  was  silent — of 
the — the  extraordinary  atmosphere,  and  how  six  millions 
of  people  saw  Him.  And  think  what  He  has  done — how 
He  has  healed  all  the  old  wounds — how  the  whole  world  is 
at  peace  at  last — and  of  what  is  going  to  happen.  Oh ! 
mother,  give  up  those  horrible  old  lies ;  give  them  up ;  be 
brave." 

"The  priest,  the  priest !"  moaned  the  old  woman  at  last. 

*'0h !  no,  no,  no — not  the  priest ;  he  can  do  nothing.  He 
knows  it's  all  lies,  too !" 

"The  priest !  the  priest !"  moaned  the  other  again.  "He 
can  tell  you;  he  knows  the  answer." 

Her  face  was  convulsed  with  effort,  and  her  old  fingers 
fumbled  and  twisted  with  the  rosary.  Mabel  grew  sud- 
denly frightened,  and  stood  up. 

"Oh!  mother!"  She  stooped  and  kissed  her.  "There!  I 
won't  say  any  more  now.  But  just  think  about  it  quietly. 
Don't  be  in  the  least  afraid ;  it  is  all  perfectly  right." 

She  stood  a  moment,  still  looking  compassionately  down; 
torn  by  sympathy  and  desire.  No !  it  was  no  use  now ;  she 
must  wait  till  the  next  day. 

"I'll  look  in  again  presently,"  she  said,  "when  you  have 
had  dinner.     Mother !  don't  look  like  that !     Kiss  me !" 

It  was  astonishing,  she  told  herself  that  evening,  how  any 
one  could  be  so  blind.  And  what  a  confession  of  weakness, 
too,  to  call  only  for  the  priest !     It  was  ludicrous,  absurd ! 

She  herself  was  filled  with  an  extraordinary^  peace.  Even 
death  itself  seemed  now  no  longer  terrible,  for  was  not 
death  swallowed  up  in  victory.''  She  contrasted  the  selfish 
individualism  of  the  Christian,  who  sobbed  and  shrank  from 
death,  or,  at  the  best,  thought  of  it  only  as  the  gate  to  his 


THE  ENCOUNTER  107 

own  eternal  life,  with  the  free  altruism  of  the  New  Believer 
who  asked  no  more  than  that  Man  should  live  and  grow, 
that  the  Spirit  of  the  World  should  triumph  and  reveal 
Himself,  while  he,  the  unit,  was  content  to  sink  back  into 
that  reservoir  of  energy  from  which  he  drew  his  life.  At 
this  moment  she  Avould  have  suffered  anything,  faced  death 
cheerfully — she  contemplated  even  the  old  woman  upstairs 
with  pity — for  w^as  it  not  piteous  that  death  should  not 
bring  her  to  herself  and  reality? 

She  was  in  a  quiet  whirl  of  intoxication ;  it  was  as  if  the 
heavy  veil  of  sense  had  rolled  back  at  last  and  shown  a 
sweet,  eternal  landscape  behind — a  shadowless  land  of  peace 
where  the  lion  lay  down  with  the  lamb,  and  the  leopard 
with  the  kid.  There  should  be  war  no  more:  that  bloody 
spectre  was  dead,  and  with  him  the  brood  of  evil  that  lived 
in  his  shadow — superstition,  conflict,  terror,  and  unreality. 
The  idols  were  smashed,  and  rats  had  run  out ;  Jehovah  was 
fallen ;  the  wild-eyed  dreamer  of  Galilee  was  in  his  grave ; 
the  reign  of  priests  was  ended.  And  in  their  place  stood 
a  strange,  quiet  figure  of  indomitable  power  and  unruffled 
tenderness.  .  .  .  He  whom  she  had  seen — the  Son  of  Man, 
the  Saviour  of  the  world,  as  she  had  called  Him  just  now — 
He  who  bore  these  titles  was  no  longer  a  monstrous  figure, 
half  God  and  half  man,  claiming  both  natures  and  possess- 
ing neither ;  one  who  was  tempted  without  temptation,  and 
who  conquered  without  merit,  as  his  followers  said.  Here 
was  one  instead  whom  she  could  follow,  a  god  indeed  and 
a  man  as  well — a  god  because  human,  and  a  man  because 
so  divine. 

She  said  no  more  that  night.     She  looked  into  the  bed- 


108  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

room  for  a  few  minutes,  and  saw  the  old  woman  asleep. 
Her  old  hand  lay  out  on  the  coverlet,  and  still  between  the 
fingers  was  twisted  the  silly  string  of  beads.  Mabel  went 
softly  across  in  the  shaded  light,  and  tried  to  detach  it ; 
but  the  wrinkled  fingers  writhed  and  closed,  and  a  murmur 
came  from  the  half-open  lips.  Ah!  how  piteous  it  was, 
thought  the  girl,  how  hopeless  that  a  soul  should  flow  out 
into  such  darkness,  unwilling  to  make  the  supreme,  gener- 
ous surrender,  and  lay  down  its  life  because  life  itself  de- 
manded it ! 
Then  she  went  to  her  own  room. 

The  clocks  were  chiming  three,  and  the  grey  dawn  lay  on 
the  walls,  when  she  awoke  to  find  by  her  bed  the  woman 
who  had  sat  with  the  old  lady. 

"Come  at  once,  madam ;  Mrs.  Brand  is  dying." 


IV 

Oliver  was  with  them  by  six  o'clock ;  he  came  straight  up 
into  his  mother's  room  to  find  that  all  was  over. 

The  room  was  full  of  the  morning  light  and  the  clean 
air,  and  a  bubble  of  bird-music  poured  in  from  the  lawn. 
But  his  wife  knelt  by  the  bed,  still  holding  the  wrinkled 
hands  of  the  old  woman,  her  face  buried  in  her  arms.  The 
face  of  his  mother  was  quieter  than  he  had  ever  seen  it, 
the  lines  showed  only  like  the  faintest  shadows  on  an  ala- 
baster mask ;  her  lips  were  set  in  a  smile.  He  looked  for 
a  moment,  waiting  until  the  spasm  that  caught  his  throat 
had  died  again.  Then  he  put  his  hand  on  his  wife's 
shoulder. 


THE  ENCOUNTER  109 

"When?"  he  said. 

Mabel  lifted  her  face. 

"Oh!  Oliver,"  she  murmured,  "It  was  an  hour  ago. 
.    .    .  Look  at  this." 

She  released  the  dead  hands  and  showed  the  rosary  still 
twisted  there;  it  had  snapped  in  the  last  struggle,  and  a 
brown  bead  lay  beneath  the  fingers. 

"I  did  what  I  could,"  sobbed  INIabel.  "I  was  not  hard  with 
her.  But  she  would  not  listen.  She  kept  on  crying  out  for 
the  priest  as  long  as  she  could  speak." 

"My  dear  ..."  began  the  man.  Then  he,  too,  went 
down  on  his  knees  by  his  wife,  leaned  forward  and  kissed 
the  rosary,  while  tears  blinded  him. 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said.  "Leave  her  in  peace.  I  would  not 
move  it  for  the  world:  it  was  her  toy,  was  it  not.''" 

The  girl  stared  at  him,  astonished. 

"We  can  be  generous,  too,"  he  said.  "We  have  all  the 
world  at  last.  And  she — she  has  lost  nothing:  it  was  too 
late." 

"I  did  what  I  could." 

"Yes,  my  darling,  and  you  were  right.  But  she  was  too 
old ;  she  could  not  understand." 

He  paused. 

"Euthanasia.?"  he  whispered  with  something  very  like 
tenderness. 

She  nodded. 

"Yes,"  she  said;  "just  as  the  last  agony  began.  She 
resisted,  but  I  knew  you  would  wish  it." 

They  talked  together  for  an  hour  in  the  garden  before 
Oliver  went  to  his  room ;  and  he  began  to  tell  her  presently 
of  all  that  had  passed. 


110  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"He  has  refused,"  he  said.  "We  offered  to  create  an  office 
for  Him ;  He  was  to  have  been  called  Consultor,  and  He  re- 
fused it  two  hours  ago.  But  He  has  promised  to  be  at  our 
service.  .  .  .  No,  I  must  not  tell  you  where  He  is.  .  .  . 
He  will  return  to  America  soon,  we  think ;  but  He  will  not 
leave  us.  We  have  drawn  up  a  programme,  and  it  is  to  be 
sent  to  Him  presently.  .   .   .  Yes,  we  were  unanimous." 

"And  the  programme.''" 

"It  concerns  the  Franchise,  the  Poor  Laws  and  Trade. 
I  can  tell  you  no  more  than  that.  It  was  He  who  suggested 
the  points.    But  we  are  not  sure  if  we  understand  Him  yet." 

"But,  my  dear " 

"Yes ;  it  is  quite  extraordinary.  I  have  never  seen  such 
things.     There  was  practically  no  argument." 

"Do  the  people  understand.?" 

"I  think  so.  We  shall  have  to  guard  against  a  reaction. 
They  say  that  the  Catholics  will  be  in  danger.  There  is 
an  article  this  morning  in  the  Era.  The  proofs  were  sent 
to  us  for  sanction.  It  suggests  that  means  must  be  taken 
to  protect  the  Catholics." 

Mabel  smiled. 

"It  is  a  strange  irony,"  he  said.  "But  they  have  a  right 
to  exist.  How  far  they  have  a  right  to  share  in  the  gov- 
ernment is  another  matter.  That  will  come  before  us,  I 
think,  in  a  week  or  two." 

"Tell  me  more  about  Him." 

"There  is  really  nothing  to  tell ;  we  know  nothing,  except 
that  He  is  the  supreme  force  in  the  world.  France  is  in  a 
ferment,  and  has  offered  him  Dictatorship.  That,  too.  He 
has  refused.  Germany  has  made  the  same  proposal  as  our- 
selves ;  Italy,  the  same  as  France,  with  the  title  of  Perpetual 


THE  ENCOUNTER  111 

Tribune.  America  has  done  nothing  yet,  and  Spain  is 
divided." 

"And  the  East.?" 

"The  Emperor  thanked  Him;  no  more  than  that." 

Mabel  drew  a  long  breath,  and  stood  looking  out  across 
the  heat  haze  that  was  beginning  to  rise  from  the  town  be- 
neath. These  were  matters  so  vast  that  she  could  not  take 
them  in.  But  to  her  imagination  Europe  lay  like  a  busy 
hive,  moving  to  and  fro  in  the  sunshine.  She  saw  the  blue 
distance  of  France,  the  towns  of  Germany,  the  Alps,  and 
beyond  them  the  Pyrenees  and  sun-baked  Spain ;  and  all 
were  intent  on  the  same  business,  to  capture  if  they  could 
this  astonishing  figure  that  had  risen  over  the  world.  Sober 
England,  too,  was  alight  with  zeal.  Each  country  desired 
nothing  better  than  that  this  man  should  rule  over  them; 
and  He  had  refused  them  all. 

"He  has  refused  them  all!"  she  repeated  breathlessly. 

"Yes,  all.  We  think  He  may  be  waiting  to  hear  from 
America.     He  still  holds  office  there,  you  know." 

"How  old  is  He?" 

"Not  more  than  thirty-two  or  three.  He  has  only  been 
in  office  a  few  months.  Before  that  He  lived  alone  in  Ver- 
mont. Then  He  stood  for  the  Senate ;  then  He  made  a  speech 
or  two ;  then  He  was  appointed  delegate,  though  no  one 
seems  to  have  realised  His  power.     And  the  rest  we  know." 

Mabel  shook  her  head  meditatively. 

"We  know  nothing,"  she  said.  "Nothing;  nothing! 
Where  did  He  learn  His  languages?" 

"It  is  supposed  that  He  travelled  for  many  years.  But 
no  one  knows.     He  has  said  nothing." 

She  turned  swiftly  to  her  husband. 


112  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"But  what  does  it  all  mean?  What  is  His  power?  Tell 
me,  Oliver?" 

He  smiled  back,  shaking  his  head. 

"Well,  Markham  said  that  it  was  his  incorruption — that 
and  his  oratory ;  but  that  explains  nothing." 

"No,  it  explains  nothing,"  said  the  girl. 

"It  is  just  personality,"  went  on  Oliver,  "at  least,  that's 
the  label  to  use.     But  that,  too,  is  only  a  label." 

"Yes,  just  a  label.  But  it  is  that.  They  all  felt  it  in 
Paul's  House,  and  in  the  streets  afterwards.  Did  you  not 
feel  it?" 

"Feel  it !"  cried  the  man,  with  shining  eyes.  "Why,  I 
would  die  for  Him !" 

They  went  back  to  the  house  presently,  and  it  was  not  till 
they  reached  the  door  that  either  said  a  word  about  the 
dead  old  woman  who  lay  upstairs. 

"They  are  with  her  now,"  said  INIabel  softly.  "I  will 
communicate  with  the  people." 

He  nodded  gravely. 

"It  had  better  be  this  afternoon,"  he  said.  "I  have  a 
spare  hour  at  fourteen  o'clock.  Oh !  by  the  way,  ^label, 
do  you  know  who  took  the  message  to  the  priest?" 

"I  think  so." 

"Yes,  it  was  Phillips.  I  saw  him  last  night.  He  will 
not  come  here  again." 

"Did  he  confess  it?" 

"He  did.     He  was  most  offensive." 

But  Oliver's  face  softened  again  as  he  nodded  to  his  wife 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  and  turned  to  go  up  once  more 
to  his  mother's  room. 


CHAPTER  II 


It  seemed  to  Percy  Franklin  as  he  drew  near  Rome,  sliding 
five  hundred  feet  high  through  the  summer  dawn,  that  he 
was  approaching  the  very  gates  of  heaven,  or,  still  better, 
he  was  as  a  child  coming  home.     For  what  he  had  left  be- 
hind him  ten  hours  before  in  London  was  not  a  bad  speci- 
men, he  thought,  of  the  superior  mansions  of  hell.     It  was 
a  world  whence  God  seemed  to  have  withdrawn  Himself, 
leaving  it  indeed  in  a  state  of  profound  complacency — a 
state  without  hope  or  faith,  but  a  condition  in  which,  al- 
though life  continued,  there  was  absent  the  one  essential  to 
Mell-being.     It  was  not  that  there  was  not  expectation — 
for  London  was  on  tip-toe  with  excitement.     There  were 
rumours  of  all  kinds :  Felsenburgh  was  coming  back ;  he 
was  back;  he  had  never  gone.     He  was  to  be  President  of 
the  Council,  Prime  Minister,  Tribune,  with  full  capacities 
of  democratic  government  and  personal  sacro-sanctity,  even 
King — if  not  Emperor  of  the  West.     The  entire  constitu- 
tion was  to  be  remodelled,  there  was  to  be  a  complete  re- 
arrangement of  the  pieces ;  crime  was  to  be  abolished  by 
the  mysterious  power  that  had  killed  war;  there  was  to  be 
free  food — the  secret  of  life  was  discovered,  there  was  to 
be  no  more  death — so  the  rumours  ran.  .    .    .  Yet  that  was 
lacking,    to    the    priest's    mind,    which    made    life    worth 
living.    .    .    . 
In  Paris,  while  the  volor  waited  at  the  great  station  at 


114  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

Montmartre,  once  known  as  the  Church  of  the  Sacred 
Heart,  he  had  heard  the  roaring  of  the  mob  in  love  with 
hfe  at  last,  and  seen  the  banners  go  past.  As  it  rose  again 
over  the  suburbs  he  had  seen  the  long  lines  of  trains  stream- 
ing in,  visible  as  bright  serpents  in  the  brilliant  glory  of 
the  electric  globes,  bringing  the  country  folk  up  to  the 
Council  of  the  Nation  which  the  legislators,  mad  with 
drama,  had  summoned  to  decide  the  great  question.  At 
Lyons  it  had  been  the  same.  The  night  was  as  clear  as  the 
day,  and  as  full  of  sound.  Mid  France  was  arriving  to 
register  its  votes. 

He  had  fallen  asleep  as  the  cold  air  of  the  Alps  began  to 
envelop  the  car,  and  had  caught  but  glimpses  of  the 
solemn  moonlit  peaks  below  him,  the  black  profundities  of 
the  gulfs,  the  silver  glint  of  the  shield-like  lakes,  and  the 
soft  glow  of  Interlaken  and  the  towns  in  the  Rhone  valley. 
Once  he  had  been  moved  in  spite  of  himself,  as  one  of  the 
huge  German  volors  had  passed  in  the  night,  a  blaze  of 
ghostly  lights  and  gilding,  resembling  a  huge  moth  with 
antennae  of  electric  light,  and  the  two  ships  had  saluted  one 
another  through  half  a  league  of  silent  air,  with  a 
pathetic  cry  as  of  two  strange  night-birds  who  have  no 
leisure  to  pause.  Milan  and  Turin  had  been  quiet,  for 
Italy  was  organised  on  other  principles  than  France,  and 
Florence  was  not  yet  half  awake.  And  now  the  Cam- 
pagna  was  slipping  past  like  a  grey-green  rug,  wrinkled 
and  tumbled,  five  hundred  feet  beneath,  and  Rome  was  all 
but  in  sight.  The  indicator  above  his  seat  moved  its  finger 
from  one  hundred  to  ninety  miles. 

He  shook  off  the  doze  at  last,  and  drew  out  his  office  book ; 
but  as  he  pronounced  the  words  his  attention  was  elsewhere, 


THE  ENCOUNTER  115 

and,  when  Prime  was  said,  he  closed  the  book  once  more, 
propped  himself  more  comfortably,  drawing  the  furs  round 
him,  and  stretching  his  feet  on  the  empty  seat  opposite. 
He  was  alone  in  his  compartment ;  the  three  men  who  had 
come  in  at  Paris  had  descended  at  Turin. 

He  had  been  remarkably  relieved  when  the  message  had 
come  three  days  before  from  the  Cardinal-Protector,  bid- 
ding him  make  arrangements  for  a  long  absence  from 
England,  and,  as  soon  as  that  was  done,  to  come  to  Rome. 
He  understood  that  the  ecclesiastical  authorities  were  really 
disturbed  at  last. 

He  reviewed  the  last  day  or  two,  considering  the  report  he 
would  have  to  present.  Since  his  last  letter,  three  days 
before,  seven  notable  apostasies  had  taken  place  in  West- 
minster diocese  alone,  two  priests  and  five  important  lay- 
men. There  was  talk  of  revolt  on  all  sides ;  he  had  seen  a 
threatening  document,  called  a  "petition,"  demanding  the 
right  to  dispense  with  all  ecclesiastical  vestments,  signed  by 
one  hundred  and  twenty  priests  from  England  and  Wales. 
The  "petitioners"  pointed  out  that  persecution  was  coming 
swiftly  at  the  hands  of  the  mob ;  that  the  Government  was 
not  sincere  in  the  promises  of  protection ;  they  hinted  that 
religious  loyalty  was  already  strained  to  breaking-point 
even  in  the  case  of  the  most  faithful,  and  that  with  all 
but  those  it  had  already  broken. 

And  as  to  his  comments  Percy  was  clear.  He  would  tell 
the  authorities,  as  he  had  already  told  them  fifty  times, 
that  it  was  not  persecution  that  mattered;  it  was  this  new 
outburst  of  enthusiasm  for  Humanity — an  enthusiasm 
which  had  waxed  a  hundredfold  more  hot  since  the  coming 


116  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

of  Felsenburgh  and  the  publication  of  the  Eastern  news — 
which  was  melting  the  hearts  of  all  but  the  very  few.  Man 
had  suddenly  fallen  in  love  with  man.  The  conventional 
were  rubbing  their  eyes  and  wondering  why  they  had  ever 
believed,  or  even  dreamed,  that  there  was  a  God  to  love, 
asking  one  another  what  was  the  secret  of  the  spell  that  had 
held  them  so  long.  Christianity  and  Theism  were  passing 
together  from  the  world's  mind  as  a  morning  mist  passes 
when  the  sun  comes  up.  His  recommendations — ?  Yes, 
he  had  those  clear,  and  ran  them  over  in  his  mind  with  a 
sense  of  despair. 

For  himself,  he  scarcely  knew  if  he  believed  what  he  pro- 
fessed. His  emotions  seemed  to  have  been  finally  ex- 
tinguished in  the  vision  of  the  white  car  and  the  silence 
of  the  crowd  that  evening  three  weeks  before.  It  had  been 
so  horribly  real  and  positive ;  the  delicate  aspirations  and 
hopes  of  the  soul  appeared  so  shadowy  when  compared  with 
that  burning,  heart-shaking  passion  of  the  people.  He  had 
never  seen  anything  like  it ;  no  congregation  under  the  spell 
of  the  most  kindling  preacher  alive  had  ever  responded 
with  one-tenth  of  the  fervour  with  which  that  irreligious 
crowd,  standing  in  the  cold  dawn  of  the  London  streets, 
had  greeted  the  coming  of  their  saviour.  And  as  for  the 
man  himself — Percy  could  not  analyse  what  it  was  that  pos- 
sessed him  as  he  had  stared,  muttering  the  name  of  Jesus, 
on  that  quiet  figure  in  black  with  features  and  hair  so  like 
his  own.  He  only  knew  that  a  hand  had  gripped  his  heart 
— a  hand  warm,  not  cold — and  had  quenched,  it  seemed, 
all  sense  of  religious  conviction.  It  had  only  been  with  an 
effort  that  sickened  him  to  remember,  that  he  had  refrained 
from  that  interior  act  of  capitulation  that  is  so  familiar  to 


THE  ENCOUNTER  117 

all  who  have  cultivated  an  inner  life  and  understand  what 
failure  means.  There  had  been  one  citadel  that  had  not 
flung  wide  its  gates — all  else  had  yielded.  His  emotions  had 
been  stormed,  his  intellect  silenced,  his  memory  of  grace 
obscured,  a  spiritual  nausea  had  sickened  his  soul,  yet  the 
secret  fortress  of  the  will  had,  in  an  agony,  held  fast  the 
doors  and  refused  to  cry  out  and  call  Felsenburgh  king. 

Ah !  how  he  had  prayed  during  those  three  weeks !  It 
appeared  to  him  that  he  had  done  little  else ;  there  had  been 
no  peace.  Lances  of  doubt  thrust  again  and  again  through 
door  and  window;  masses  of  argument  had  crashed  from 
above;  he  had  been  on  the  alert  day  and  night,  repelling 
this,  blindly,  and  denying  that,  endeavouring  to  keep  his 
foothold  on  the  slippery  plane  of  the  supernatural,  send- 
ing up  cry  after  cry  to  the  Lord  Who  hid  Himself.  He 
had  slept  with  his  crucifix  in  his  hand,  he  had  awakened 
himself  by  kissing  it;  while  he  wrote,  talked,  ate,  walked, 
and  sat  in  cars,  the  inner  life  had  been  busy — making  fran- 
tic speechless  acts  of  faith  in  a  religion  which  his  intellect 
denied  and  from  which  his  emotions  shrank.  There  had 
been  moments  of  ecstasy — now  in  a  crowded  street,  when 
he  recognised  that  God  was  all,  that  the  Creator  was  the 
key  to  the  creature's  life,  that  a  humble  act  of  adoration 
was  transcendently  greater  than  the  most  noble  natural  act, 
that  the  Supernatural  was  the  origin  and  end  of  existence — 
there  had  come  to  him  such  moments  in  the  night,  in  the 
silence  of  the  Cathedral,  when  the  lamp  flickered,  and  a 
soundless  air  had  breathed  from  the  iron  door  of  the  taber- 
nacle. Then  again  passion  ebbed,  and  left  him  stranded 
on  misery,  but  set  with  a  determination  (which  might 
equally  be  that  of  pride  or  faith)  that  no  power  in  earth 


118  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

or  hell  should  hinder  him  from  professing  Christianity  even 
if  he  could  not  realise  it.  It  was  Christianity  alone  that 
made  life  tolerable. 

Percy  drew  a  long  vibrating  breath,  and  changed  his  posi- 
tion ;  for  far  away  his  unseeing  eyes  had  descried  a  dome, 
like  a  blue  bubble  set  on  a  carpet  of  green ;  and  his  brain 
had  interrupted  itself  to  tell  him  that  this  was  Rome. 

He  got  up  presently,  passed  out  of  his  compartment,  and 
moved  forward  up  the  central  gangway,  seeing,  as  he  went, 
through  the  glass  doors  to  right  and  left  his  fellow- 
passengers,  some  still  asleep,  some  staring  out  at  the  view, 
some  reading.  He  put  his  eye  to  the  glass  square  in  the 
door,  and  for  a  minute  or  two  watched,  fascinated,  the 
steady  figure  of  the  steerer  at  his  post.  There  he  stood  mo- 
tionless, his  hands  on  the  steel  circle  that  directed  the  vast 
wings,  his  eyes  on  the  wind-gauge  that  revealed  to  hiin 
as  on  the  face  of  a  clock  both  the  force  and  the  direction  of 
the  high  gusts ;  now  and  again  his  hands  moved  slightl}'^, 
and  the  huge  fans  responded,  now  lifting,  now  lowering. 
Beneath  him  and  in  front,  fixed  on  a  circular  table,  were  the 
glass  domes  of  various  indicators — Percy  did  not  know 
the  meaning  of  half — one  seemed  a  kind  of  barometer, 
intended,  he  guessed,  to  declare  the  height  at  which  they 
were  travelling,  another  a  compass.  And  be3'ond,  through 
the  curved  windows,  lay  the  enormous  sk3%  Well,  it  was 
all  very  wonderful,  thought  the  priest,  and  it  was  with  the 
force  of  which  all  this  was  but  one  symptom  that  the  super- 
natural had  to  compete. 

He  sighed,  turned,  and  went  back  to  his  compartment. 

It  was  an  astonishing  vision  that  began  presently  to  open 
before  him — scarcely  beautiful  except  for  its  strangeness, 


THE  ENCOUNTER  119 

and  as  unreal  as  a  raised  map.  Far  to  his  right,  as  he  could 
see  through  the  glass  doors,  lay  the  grey  line  of  the  sea 
against  the  luminous  sky,  rising  and  falling  ever  so  slightly 
as  the  car,  apparently  motionless,  tilted  imperceptibly 
against  the  western  breeze;  the  only  other  movement  was 
the  faint  pulsation  of  the  huge  throbbing  screw  in  the  rear. 
To  the  left  stretched  the  limitless  country,  flitting  beneath, 
in  glimpses  seen  between  the  motionless  wings,  with  here 
and  there  the  streak  of  a  village,  flattened  out  of  recog- 
nition, or  the  flash  of  water,  and  bounded  far  away  by  the 
low  masses  of  the  Umbrian  hills ;  while  in  front,  seen  and 
gone  again  as  the  car  veered,  lay  the  confused  line  of  Rome 
and  the  huge  new  suburbs,  all  crowned  by  the  great  dome 
growing  every  instant.  Around,  above  and  beneath,  his 
eyes  were  conscious  of  wide  air-spaces,  overhead  deepening 
into  lapis-lazuli  down  to  horizons  of  pale  turquoise.  The 
only  sound,  of  which  he  had  long  ceased  to  be  directly  con- 
scious, was  that  of  the  steady  rush  of  air,  less  shrill  now  as 
the  speed  began  to  drop  down — down — to  forty  miles  an 
hour.  There  was  a  clang  of  a  bell,  and  immediately  he  was 
aware  of  a  sense  of  faint  sickness  as  the  car  dropped  in  a 
glorious  swoop,  and  he  staggered  a  little  as  he  grasped  his 
rugs  together.  When  he  looked  again  the  motion  seemed 
to  have  ceased ;  he  could  see  towers  ahead,  a  line  of  house- 
roofs,  and  beneath  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  road  and 
more  roofs  with  patches  of  green  between.  A  bell  clanged 
again,  and  a  long  sweet  cry  followed.  On  all  sides  he  could 
hear  the  movement  of  feet;  a  guard  in  uniform  passed 
swiftly  along  the  glazed  corridor;  again  came  the  faint 
nausea ;  and  as  he  looked  up  once  more  from  his  luggage 
for  an  instant  he  saw  the  dome,  grey  now  and  lined,  almost 


120  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

on  a  level  with  his  own  eyes,  huge  against  the  vivid  sky. 
The  world  span  round  for  a  moment ;  he  shut  his  eyes,  and 
when  he  looked  again  walls  seemed  to  heave  up  past  him 
and  stop,  swaying.  There  was  the  last  bell,  a  faint  vibra- 
tion as  the  car  grounded  in  the  steel-netted  dock ;  a  line  of 
faces  rocked  and  grew  still  outside  the  windows,  and  Percy 
passed  out  towards  the  doors,  carrying  his  bags. 


II 


He  still  felt  a  sense  of  insecure  motion  as  he  sat  alone  over 
coffee  an  hour  later  in  one  of  the  remote  rooms  of  the 
Vatican;  but  there  was  a  sense  of  exhilaration  as  well,  as 
his  tired  brain  realised  where  he  was.  It  had  been  strange 
to  drive  over  the  rattling  stones  in  the  weedy  little  cab, 
such  as  he  remembered  ten  years  ago  when  he  had  left  Rome, 
newly  ordained.  While  the  world  had  moved  on,  Rome 
had  stood  still ;  she  had  other  affairs  to  think  of  than 
physical  improvements,  now  that  the  spiritual  weight  of 
the  earth  rested  entirely  upon  her  shoulders.  All  had 
seemed  unchanged — or  rather  it  had  reverted  to  the  condi- 
tion of  nearly  one  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago.  Histories 
related  how  the  improvements  of  the  Italian  government 
had  gradually  dropped  out  of  use  as  soon  as  the  cit}^ 
eighty  years  before,  had  been  given  her  independence;  the 
trams  ceased  to  run ;  volors  were  not  allowed  to  enter  the 
walls ;  the  new  buildings,  permitted  to  remain,  had  been 
converted  to  ecclesiastical  use ;  the  Quirlnal  became  the 
offices  of  the  "Red  Pope" ;  the  embassies,  huge  seminaries ; 
even  the  Vatican  itself,  with  the  exception  of  the  upper 


THE  ENCOUNTER  121 

floor,  had  become  the  abode  of  the  Sacred  College,  who 
surrounded  the  Supreme  Pontiff  as  stars  their  sun. 

It  was  an  extraordinary  city,  said  antiquarians — the  one 
living  example  of  the  old  days.  Here  were  to  be  seen  the 
ancient  inconveniences,  the  insanitary  horrors,  the  incarna- 
tion of  a  world  given  over  to  dreaming.  The  old  Church 
pomp  was  back,  too ;  the  cardinals  drove  again  in  gilt 
coaches ;  the  Pope  rode  on  his  white  mule ;  the  Blessed  Sacra- 
ment went  through  the  ill-smelling  streets  with  the  sound  of 
bells  and  the  light  of  lanterns.  A  brilliant  description  of  it 
had  interested  the  civilised  world  immensely  for  about 
forty-eight  hours ;  the  appalling  retrogression  was  still 
used  occasionally  as  the  text  for  violent  denunciations  by 
the  poorly  educated;  the  well-educated  had  ceased  to  do 
anything  but  take  for  granted  that  superstition  and 
progress  were  irreconcilable  enemies. 

Yet  Percy,  even  in  the  glimpses  he  had  had  in  the  streets, 
as  he  drove  from  the  volor  station  outside  the  People's 
Gate,  of  the  old  peasant  dresses,  the  blue  and  red-fringed 
wine  carts,  the  cabbage-strewn  gutters,  the  wet  clothes 
flapping  on  strings,  the  mules  and  horses — strange  though 
these  were,  he  had  found  them  a  refreshment.  It  had 
seemed  to  remind  him  that  man  was  human,  and  not  divine 
as  the  rest  of  the  world  proclaimed — ^human,  and  therefore 
careless  and  individualistic ;  human,  and  therefore  occupied 
with  interests  other  than  those  of  speed,  cleanliness,  and 
precision. 

The  room  in  which  he  sat  now  by  the  window  with  shad- 
ing blinds,  for  the  sun  was  already  hot,  seemed  to  revert 
back  even  further  than  to  a  century-and-a-half.  The  old 
damask  and  gilding  that  he  had  expected  was  gone,  and  its 


122  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

absence  gave  the  impression  of  great  severity.  There  was 
a  wide  deal  table  running  the  length  of  the  room,  with  up- 
right wooden  arm  chairs  set  against  it;  the  floor  was  red- 
tiled,  with  strips  of  matting  for  the  feet,  the  white,  dis- 
tempered walls  had  only  a  couple  of  old  pictures  hung  upon 
them,  and  a  large  crucifix  flanked  by  candles  stood  on  a 
little  altar  by  the  further  door.  There  was  no  more  furni- 
ture than  that,  with  the  exception  of  a  writing-desk  between 
the  windows,  on  which  stood  a  typewriter.  That  jarred 
somehow  on  his  sense  of  fitness,  and  he  wondered  at  it. 

He  finished  the  last  drop  of  coff'ee  in  the  thick-rimmed 
white  cup,  and  sat  back  in  his  chair. 

Already  the  burden  was  lighter,  and  he  was  astonished 
at  the  swiftness  with  which  it  had  become  so.  Life  looked 
simpler  here;  the  interior  world  was  taken  more  for 
granted ;  it  was  not  even  a  matter  of  debate.  There  it  was, 
imperious  and  objective,  and  through  it  glimmered  to  the 
eyes  of  the  soul  the  old  Figures  that  had  become  shrouded 
behind  the  rush  of  worldly  circumstance.  The  very  shadow 
of  God  appeared  to  rest  here;  it  was  no  longer  impossible 
to  realise  that  the  saints  watched  and  interceded,  that  Mary 
sat  on  her  throne,  that  the  white  disc  on  the  altar  was  Jesus 
Christ.  Percy  was  not  yet  at  peace — after  all,  he  had  been 
but  an  hour  in  Rome ;  and  air,  charged  with  never  so  much 
grace,  could  scarcely  do  more  than  it  had  done.  But  he 
felt  more  at  ease,  less  desperately  anxious,  more  childlike, 
more  content  to  rest  on  the  authority  that  claimed  without 
explanation,  and  asserted  that  the  world,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  proved  by  evidences  without  and  within,  was  made 
this  way  and  not  that,  for  this  purpose  and  not  the  other. 
Yet  he  had  used  the  conveniences  which  he  hated;  he  had 


THE  ENCOUNTER  123 

left  London  a  bare  twelve  hours  before,  and  now  here  he 
sat  in  a  place  which  was  either  a  stagnant  backwater  of 
life,  or  else  the  very  mid-current  of  it ;  he  was  not  yet  sure 
which. 

There  was  a  step  outside,  a  handle  was  turned;  and  the 
Cardinal-Protector  came  through. 

Percy  had  not  seen  him  for  four  years,  and  for  a  moment 
scarcely  recognised  him. 

It  was  a  very  old  man  that  he  saw  now,  bent  and  feeble, 
his  face  covered  with  wrinkles,  crowned  by  very  thin,  white 
hair,  and  the  little  scarlet  cap  on  top ;  he  was  in  his  black 
Benedictine  habit  with  a  plain  abbatial  cross  on  his  breast, 
and  walked  hesitatingly,  with  a  black  stick.  The  only 
sign  of  vigour  was  in  the  narrow  bright  slit  of  his  eyes 
showing  beneath  drooping  lids.  He  held  out  his  hand,  smil- 
ing, and  Percy,  remembering  in  time  that  he  was  in  the 
Vatican,  bowed  low  only  as  he  kissed  the  amethyst. 

"Welcome  to  Rome,  father,"  said  the  old  man,  speaking 
with  an  unexpected  briskness.  "They  told  me  you  were 
here  half-an-hour  ago ;  I  thought  I  would  leave  you  to 
wash  and  have  your  coflTee." 

Percy  murmured  something. 

"Yes ;  you  are  tired,  no  doubt,"  said  the  Cardinal,  pulling 
out  a  chair. 

"Indeed  not,  your  Eminence.     I  slept  excellently." 

The  Cardinal  made  a  little  gesture  to  a  chair. 

"But  I  must  have  a  word  with  you.  The  Holy  Father 
wishes  to  see  you  at  eleven  o'clock." 

Percy  started  a  little. 

"We  move  quickly  in  these  days,  father.  .    .    .   There  is 


124i  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

no  time  to  dawdle.  You  understand  that  jou  are  to  remain 
in  Rome  for  the  present?" 

"I  have  made  all  arrangements  for  that,  your  Eminence." 

"That  is  very  well.  .  .  .  We  are  pleased  with  you  here, 
Father  Franklin.  The  Holy  Father  has  been  greatly  im- 
pressed by  your  comments.  You  have  foreseen  things  in 
a  very  remarkable  manner." 

Percy  flushed  with  pleasure.  It  was  almost  the  first  hint 
of  encouragement  he  had  had.     Cardinal  Martin  went  on. 

"I  may  say  that  you  are  considered  our  most  valuable 
correspondent — certainly  in  England.  That  is  why  you 
are  summoned.  You  are  to  help  us  here  in  future — a  kind 
of  consultor :  any  one  can  relate  facts ;  not  every  one  can 
understand  them.  .  .  .  You  look  very  young,  father.  How 
old  are  you.^^" 

"I  am  thirty-three,  your  Eminence." 

"Ah !  3'our  white  hair  helps  you.  .  .  .  Now,  father,  will 
you  come  with  me  into  m^^  room?  It  is  now  eight  o'clock. 
I  will  keep  you  till  nine — no  longer.  Then  3'ou  shall  have 
some  rest,  and  at  eleven  I  shall  take  you  up  to  his  Holiness." 

Percy  rose  with  a  strange  sense  of  elation,  and  ran  to  open 
the  door  for  the  Cardinal  to  go  through. 


Ill 


At  a  few  minutes  before  eleven  Percy  came  out  of  his 
little  white-washed  room  in  his  new  ferraiuola,  soutane  and 
buckle  shoes,  and  tapped  at  the  door  of  the  Cardinal's 
room. 


THE  ENCOUNTER  126 

He  felt  a  great  deal  more  self-possessed  now.  He  had 
talked  to  the  Cardinal  freely  and  strongly,  had  described 
the  effect  that  Felsenburgh  had  had  upon  London,  and  even 
the  paralysis  that  had  seized  upon  himself.  He  had  stated 
his  belief  that  they  were  on  the  edge  of  a  movement  un- 
paralleled in  history:  he  related  little  scenes  that  he  had 
witnessed — a  group  kneeling  before  a  picture  of  Felsen- 
burgh, a  dying  man  calling  him  by  name,  the  aspect 
of  the  crowd  that  had  waited  in  Westminster  to  hear  the 
result  of  the  offer  made  to  the  stranger.  He  showed  him 
half-a-dozen  cuttings  from  newspapers,  pointing  out  their 
hysterical  enthusiasm ;  he  even  went  so  far  as  to  venture 
upon  prophecy,  and  to  declare  his  belief  that  persecution 
was  within  reasonable  distance. 

"The  world  seems  very  oddly  alive,"  he  said;  "it  is  as 
if  the  whole  thing  was  flushed  and  nervous." 

The  Cardinal  nodded. 

"We,  too,"  he  said,  "even  we  feel  it." 

For  the  rest  the  Cardinal  had  sat  watching  him  out  of  his 
narrow  eyes,  nodding  from  time  to  time,  putting  an  oc- 
casional question,  but  listening  throughout  with  great  at- 
tention. 

"And  your  recommendations,  father — "  he  had  said,  and 
then  interrupted  himself.  "No,  that  is  too  much  to  ask. 
The  Holy  Father  will  speak  of  that." 

He  had  congratulated  him  upon  his  Latin  then — for  they 
had  spoken  in  that  language  throughout  this  second  inter- 
view ;  and  Percy  had  explained  how  loyal  Catholic  Eng- 
land had  been  in  obeying  the  order,  given  ten  years  before, 
that  Latin  should  become  to  the  Church  what  Esperanto 
was  becoming  to  the  world. 


126  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"That  is  very  well,"  said  the  old  man.  "His  Holiness  will 
be  pleased  at  that." 

At  his  second  tap  the  door  opened  and  the  Cardinal  came 
out,  taking  him  by  the  arm  without  a  word;  and  together 
they  turned  to  the  lift  entrance. 

Percy  ventured  to  make  a  remark  as  they  slid  noiselessly 
up  towards  the  papal  apartment. 

"I  am  surprised  at  the  lift,  your  Eminence,  and  the  type- 
writer in  the  audience-room." 

"Why,  father.?" 

"Why,  all  the  rest  of  Rome  is  back  in  the  old  days." 

The  Cardinal  looked  at  him,  puzzled. 

"Is  it.?     I  suppose  it  is.     I  never  thought  of  that." 

A  Swiss  guard  flung  back  the  door  of  the  lift,  saluted  and 
went  before  them  along  the  plain  flagged  passage  to  where 
his  comrade  stood.  Then  he  saluted  again  and  went  back. 
A  Pontifical  chamberlain,  in  all  the  sombre  glory  of  purple, 
black,  and  a  Spanish  ruff",  peeped  from  the  door,  and  made 
haste  to  open  it.  It  really  seemed  almost  incredible  that 
such  things  still  existed. 

"In  a  moment,  your  Eminence,"  he  said  in  Latin.  "Will 
your  Eminence  wait  here.?" 

It  was  a  little  square  room,  with  half-a-dozen  doors, 
plainly  contrived  out  of  one  of  the  huge  old  halls,  for  it  was 
immensely  high,  and  the  tarnished  gilt  cornice  vanished  di- 
rectly in  two  places  into  the  white  walls.  The  partitions, 
too,  seemed  thin ;  for  as  the  two  men  sat  down  there  was  a 
murmur  of  voices  faintly  audible,  the  shuffling  of  footsteps, 
and  the  old  eternal  click  of  the  typewriter  from  which  Percy 
hoped  he  had  escaped.    They  were  alone  in  the  room,  which 


THE  ENCOUNTER  127 

was  furnished  with  the  same  simphclty  as  the  Cardinal's — 
giving  the  impression  of  a  curious  mingling  of  ascetic  pov- 
erty and  dignity  by  its  red-tiled  floor,  its  white  walls,  its 
altar  and  two  vast  bronze  candlesticks  of  incalculable  value 
that  stood  on  the  dais.  The  shutters  here,  too,  were  drawn ; 
and  there  was  nothing  to  distract  Percy  from  the  excitement 
that  surged  up  now  tenfold  in  heart  and  brain. 

It  was  Papa  Angelicus  whom  he  was  about  to  see ;  that 
amazing  old  man  who  had  been  appointed  Secretary  of 
State  just  fifty  years  ago,  at  the  age  of  thirty,  and  Pope 
nine  years  previously.  It  was  he  who  had  carried  out  the 
extraordinary  policy  of  yielding  the  churches  throughout 
the  whole  of  Italy  to  the  Government,  in  exchange  for  the 
temporal  lordship  of  Rome,  and  who  had  since  set  himself 
to  make  it  a  city  of  saints.  He  had  cared,  it  appeared, 
nothing  whatever  for  the  world's  opinion ;  his  policy,  so  far 
as  it  could  be  called  one,  consisted  in  a  very  simple  thing: 
he  had  declared  in  Epistle  after  Epistle  that  the  object  of 
the  Church  was  to  do  glory  to  God  by  producing  supernatu- 
ral virtues  in  man,  and  that  nothing  at  all  was  of  any  sig- 
nificance or  importance  except  so  far  as  it  effected  this  ob- 
ject. He  had  further  maintained  that  since  Peter  was  the 
Rock,  the  City  of  Peter  was  the  Capital  of  the  world,  and 
should  set  an  example  to  its  dependency :  this  could  not  be 
done  unless  Peter  ruled  his  City,  and  therefore  he  had  sac- 
rificed every  church  and  ecclesiastical  building  In  the  coun- 
try for  that  one  end.  Then  he  had  set  about  ruling  his 
city:  he  had  said  that  on  the  whole  the  latter-day  discov- 
eries of  man  tended  to  distract  immortal  souls  from  a  con- 
templation of  eternal  verities — not  that  these  discoveries 
could  be  anytliing  but  good  in  themselves,  since  after  all 


128  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

the}'  gave  insight  into  the  wonderful  laws  of  God — but  that 
at  present  they  were  too  exciting  to  the  imagination.  So 
he  had  removed  the  trams,  the  volors,  the  laboratories,  the 
manufactories — saying  that  there  was  plenty  of  room  for 
them  outside  Rome — and  had  allowed  them  to  be  planted 
in  the  suburbs :  in  their  place  he  had  raised  shrines,  religious 
houses  and  Calvaries.  Then  he  had  attended  further  to  the 
souls  of  his  subjects.  Since  Rome  was  of  limited  area,  and, 
still  more  because  the  world  corrupted  without  its  proper 
salt,  he  allowed  no  man  under  the  age  of  fifty  to  live  within 
its  walls  for  more  than  one  month  in  each  year,  except 
those  who  received  his  permit.  The}"  might  live,  of  course, 
immediately  outside  the  city  (and  they  did,  by  tens  of  thou- 
sands), but  they  were  to  understand  that  by  doing  so  they 
sinned  against  the  spirit,  though  not  the  letter,  of  their 
Father's  washes.  Then  he  had  divided  the  city  into  national 
quarters,  saying  that  as  each  nation  had  its  peculiar  virtues, 
each  was  to  let  its  light  shine  steadily  in  its  proper  place. 
Rents  had  instantly  begun  to  rise,  so  he  had  legislated 
against  that  by  reserving  in  each  quarter  a  number  of 
streets  at  fixed  prices,  and  had  issued  an  ipso  facto  excom- 
munication against  all  who  erred  in  this  respect.  The  rest 
were  abandoned  to  the  millionaires.  He  had  retained  the 
Leonine  City  entirely  at  his  own  disposal.  Then  he  had 
restored  Capital  Punishment,  with  as  much  serene  gravity 
as  that  with  which  he  had  made  himself  the  derision  of  the 
civilised  world  in  other  matters,  saying  that  though  human 
life  was  holy,  human  virtue  was  more  holy  still ;  and  he  had 
added  to  the  crime  of  murder,  the  crimes  of  adultery,  idola- 
try and  apostasy,  for  which  this  punishment  was  theoreti- 
cally sanctioned.     There  had  not  been,  however,  more  than 


THE  ENCOUNTER  129 

two  such  executions  in  the  eight  years  of  his  reign,  since 
criminals,  of  course,  with  the  exception  of  devoted  beHevers, 
instantly  made  their  way  to  the  suburbs,  where  they  were 
no  longer  under  his  jurisdiction. 

But  he  had  not  stayed  here.  He  had  sent  once  more  am- 
bassadors to  every  country  in  the  world,  informing  the 
Government  of  each  of  their  arrival.  No  attention  was 
paid  to  this,  beyond  that  of  laughter;  but  he  had  continued, 
undisturbed,  to  claim  his  rights,  and,  meanwhile,  used  his 
legates  for  the  important  work  of  disseminating  his  views. 
Epistles  appeared  from  time  to  time  in  every  town,  laying 
down  the  principles  of  the  papal  claims  with  as  much  tran- 
quillity as  if  they  were  everywhere  acknowledged.  Free- 
masonry was  steadily  denounced,  as  well  as  democratic 
ideas  of  every  kind ;  men  were  urged  to  remember  their  im- 
mortal souls  and  the  Majesty  of  God,  and  to  reflect  upon 
the  fact  that  in  a  few  years  all  would  be  called  to  give  their 
account  to  Him  Who  was  Creator  and  Ruler  of  the  world, 
Whose  Vicar  was  John  XXIV,  P.P.,  whose  name  and  seal 
were  appended. 

That  was  a  line  of  action  that  took  the  world  completely 
by  surprise.  People  had  expected  hysteria,  argument,  and 
passionate  exhortation ;  disguised  emissaries,  plots,  and 
protests.  There  were  none  of  these.  It  was  as  if  progress 
had  not  yet  begun,  and  volors  were  uninvented,  as  if  the 
entire  universe  had  not  come  to  disbelieve  in  God,  and  to 
discover  that  itself  was  God.  Here  was  this  silly  old  man, 
talking  in  his  sleep,  babbling  of  the  Cross,  and  the  inner 
life  and  the  forgiveness  of  sins,  exactly  as  his  predecessors 
had  talked  two  thousand  years  before.  Well,  it  was  only 
one  sign  more  that  Rome  had  lost  not  only  its  power,  but 


130  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

its  common  sense  as  well.    It  was  really  time  that  something 
should  be  done. 

And  this  was  the  man,  thought  Percy,  Fapa  Angelicus, 
whom  he  was  to  see  in  a  minute  or  two. 

The  Cardinal  put  his  hand  on  the  priest's  knee  as  the  door 
opened,  and  a  purple  prelate  appeared,  bowing. 

"Only  this,"  he  said.     "Be  absolutely  frank." 

Percy  stood  up,  trembling.  Then  he  followed  his  patron 
towards  the  inner  door. 


IV 

A  white  figure  sat  in  the  green  gloom,  beside  a  great  writ- 
ing-table, three  or  four  yards  away,  but  with  the  chair 
wheeled  round  to  face  the  door  by  which  the  two  entered. 
So  much  Percy  saw  as  he  performed  the  first  genuflection. 
Then  he  dropped  his  eyes,  advanced,  genuflected  again  with 
the  other,  advanced  once  more,  and  for  the  third  time  genu- 
flected, lifting  the  thin  white  hand,  stretched  out,  to  his 
lips.     He  heard  the  door  close  as  he  stood  up. 

"Father  Franklin,  Holiness,"  said  the  Cardinal's  voice  at 
his  ear. 

A  white-sleeved  arm  waved  to  a  couple  of  chairs  set  a 
yard  away,  and  the  two  sat  down. 

While  the  Cardinal,  talking  in  slow  Latin,  said  a  few 
sentences,  explaining  that  this  was  the  English  priest  whose 
correspondence  had  been  found  so  useful,  Percy  began  to 
look  with  all  his  eyes. 

He  knew  the  Pope's   face  well,  from  a  hundred  photo- 


THE  ENCOUNTER  131 

graphs  and  moving  pictures ;  even  his  gestures  were  fa- 
miliar to  him,  the  shght  bowing  of  the  head  in  assent,  the 
tiny  eloquent  movement  of  the  hands ;  but  Percy,  with  a 
sense  of  being  platitudinal,  told  himself  that  the  living 
presence  was  very  different. 

It  was  a  very  upright  old  man  that  he  saw  in  the  chair 
before  him,  of  medium  height  and  girth,  with  hands  clasping 
the  bosses  of  his  chair-arms,  and  an  appearance  of  great 
and  deliberate  dignity.  But  it  was  at  the  face  chiefly  that 
he  looked,  dropping  his  gaze  three  or  four  times,  as  the 
Pope's  blue  eyes  turned  on  him.  They  were  extraordinary 
eyes,  reminding  him  of  what  historians  said  of  Pius  X. ; 
the  lids  drew  straight  lines  across  them,  giving  him  the  look 
of  a  hawk,  but  the  rest  of  the  face  contradicted  them. 
There  was  no  sharpness  in  that.  It  was  neither  thin  nor 
fat,  but  beautifully  modelled  in  an  oval  outline:  the  lips 
were  clean-cut,  with  a  look  of  passion  in  their  curves ;  the 
nose  came  down  in  an  aquiline  sweep,  ending  in  chiselled 
nostrils ;  the  chin  was  firm  and  cloven,  and  the  poise  of  the 
whole  head  was  strangely  youthful.  It  was  a  face  of  great 
generosity  and  sweetness,  set  at  an  angle  between  defiance 
and  humility,  but  ecclesiastical  from  ear  to  ear  and  brow 
to  chin ;  the  forehead  was  slightly  compressed  at  the  tem- 
ples, and  beneath  the  white  cap  lay  white  hair.  It  had 
been  the  subject  of  laughter  at  the  music-halls  nine  years 
before,  when  the  composite  face  of  well-known  priests  had 
been  thrown  on  a  screen,  side  by  side  with  the  new  Pope's, 
for  the  two  were  almost  indistinguishable. 

Percy  found  himself  trying  to  sum  it  up,  but  nothing 
came  to  him  except  the  word  "priest."  It  was  that,  and 
that  was  all.     Ecce  sacerdos  ma  gnus!    He  was  astonished 


132  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

at  the  look  of  youth,  for  the  Pope  was  eighty-eight  this 
year;  3'et  his  figure  was  as  upright  as  that  of  a  man  of 
fifty,  his  shoulders  unbowed,  his  head  set  on  them  like  an 
athlete's,  and  his  wrinkles  scarcely  perceptible  in  the  half 
light.     Papa  Angelicus!  reflected  Percy. 

The  Cardinal  ceased  his  explanations,  and  made  a  little 
gesture.  Percy  drew  up  all  his  faculties  tense  and  tight  to 
answer  the  questions  that  he  knew  were  coming. 

"I  welcome  you,  my  son,"  said  a  very  soft,  resonant  voice. 

Percy  bowed,  desperately,  from  the  waist. 

The  Pope  dropped  his  eyes  again,  lifted  a  paper-weight 
with  his  left  hand,  and  began  to  play  with  it  gently  as  he 
talked. 

"Now,  my  son,  deliver  a  little  discourse.  I  suggest  to  you 
three  heads — what  has  happened,  what  is  happening,  what 
will  happen,  with  a  peroration  as  to  what  should  happen." 

Percy  drew  a  long  breath,  settled  himself  back,  clasped  the 
fingers  of  his  left  hand  in  the  fingers  of  his  right,  fixed 
his  eyes  firmly  upon  the  cross-embroidered  red  shoe  oppo- 
site, and  began.  (Had  he  not  rehearsed  this  a  hundred 
times!) 

He  first  stated  his  theme ;  to  the  effect  that  all  the  forces 
of  the  civilised  world  were  concentrating  into  two  camps — 
the  world  and  God.  Up  to  the  present  time  the  forces  of  the 
world  had  been  incoherent  and  spasmodic,  breaking  out  in 
various  ways — revolutions  and  wars  had  been  like  the  move- 
ments of  a  mob,  undisciplined,  unskilled,  and  unrestrained. 
To  meet  this,  the  Church,  too,  had  acted  through  her 
Catholicity — dispersion  rather  than  concentration :  franc- 
tireurs  had  been  opposed  to  franc-tireurs.    But  during  the 


THE  ENCOUNTER  133 

last  hundred  years  there  had  been  indications  that  the 
method  of  warfare  was  to  change.  Europe,  at  any  rate, 
had  grown  weary  of  internal  strife;  the  unions  first  of 
Labour,  then  of  Capital,  then  of  Labour  and  Capital  com- 
bined, illustrated  this  in  the  economic  sphere ;  the  peaceful 
partition  of  Africa  in  the  political  sphere;  the  spread  of 
Humanitarian  religion  in  the  spiritual  sphere.  Over 
against  this  must  be  placed  the  increased  centralisation  of 
the  Church.  By  the  wisdom  of  her  pontiffs,  over-ruled  by 
God  Almighty,  the  lines  had  been  drawing  tighter  every 
year.  He  instanced  the  abolition  of  all  local  usages,  in- 
cluding those  so  long  cherished  by  the  East,  the  establish- 
ment of  the  Cardinal-Protectorates  in  Rome,  the  enforced 
merging  of  all  friars  into  one  Order,  though  retaining  their 
familiar  names,  under  the  authority  of  the  supreme  Gen- 
eral ;  all  monks,  with  the  exception  of  the  Carthusians,  the 
CarmeHtes  and  the  Trappists,  into  another;  of  the  three 
excepted  into  a  third;  and  the  classification  of  nuns  after 
the  same  plan.  Further,  he  remarked  on  the  more  recent 
decrees,  establishing  the  sense  of  the  Vatican  decision  on 
infallibility,  the  new  version  of  Canon  Law,  the  immense 
simplification  that  had  taken  place  in  ecclesiastical  govern- 
ment, the  hierarch}',  rubrics  and  the  affairs  of  missionary 
countries,  with  the  new  and  extraordinary  privileges 
granted  to  mission  priests.  At  this  point  he  became  aware 
that  his  self -consciousness  had  left  him,  and  he  began,  even 
with  little  gestures,  and  a  slightly  raised  voice,  to  enlarge 
on  the  significance  of  the  last  month's  events. 

All  that  had  gone  before,  he  said,  pointed  to  what  had 
now  actually  taken  place — namely,  the  reconciliation  of  the 
world  on  a  basis  other  than  that  of  Divine  Truth.     It  was 


134  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

the  intention  of  God  and  of  His  Vicars  to  reconcile  all  men 
in  Christ  Jesus ;  but  the  comer-stone  had  once  more  been 
rejected,  and  instead  of  the  chaos  that  the  pious  had 
prophesied,  there  was  coming  into  existence  a  unity  unlike 
anything  known  in  history.  This  was  the  more  deadly 
from  the  fact  that  it  contained  so  many  elements  of  in- 
dubitable good.  War,  apparently,  was  now  extinct, 
and  it  was  not  Christianity  that  had  done  it ;  union 
was  now  seen  to  be  better  than  disunion,  and  the  lesson  had 
been  learned  apart  from  the  Church.  In  fact,  natural 
virtues  had  suddenly  waxed  luxuriant,  and  supernatural 
virtues  were  despised.  Friendliness  took  the  place  of  char- 
ity, contentment  the  place  of  hope,  and  knowledge  the  place 
of  faith. 

Percy  stopped,  he  had  become  conscious  that  he  was 
preaching  a  kind  of  sermon. 
"Yes,  my  son,"  said  the  kind  voice.  "What  else?" 
What  else?  .  .  .  Very  well,  continued  Percy,  movements 
such  as  these  brought  forth  men,  and  the  Man  of  this  move- 
ment was  Julian  Felsenburgh.  He  had  accomplished  a 
work  that — apart  from  God — seemed  miraculous.  He  had 
broken  down  the  eternal  division  between  East  and  West, 
coming  himself  from  the  continent  that  alone  could  produce 
such  powers ;  he  had  prevailed  by  sheer  force  of  personality 
over  the  two  supreme  tyrants  of  life — religious  fanaticism 
and  party  government.  His  influence  over  the  impassive 
English  was  another  miracle,  yet  he  had  also  set  on  fire 
France,  Germany,  and  Spain.  Percy  here  described  one 
or  two  of  his  little  scenes,  saying  that  it  was  like  the  vision 
of  a  god:  and  he  quoted  freely  some  of  the  titles  given  to 
the  Man  by  sober,  unhysterical  newspapers.     Felsenburgh 


THE  ENCOUNTER  135 

was  called  the  Son  of  Man,  because  he  was  so  pure-bred 
a  cosmopolitan ;  the  Saviour  of  the  World,  because  he  had 
slain  war  and  himself  survived — even — even — here  Percy's 
voice  faltered — even  Incarnate  God,  because  he  was  the  per- 
fect representative  of  divine  man. 

The  quiet,  priestly  face  watching  opposite  never  winced 
or  moved ;  and  he  went  on. 

Persecution,  he  said,  was  coming.  There  had  been  a  riot 
or  two  already.  But  persecution  was  not  to  be  feared.  It 
would  no  doubt  cause  apostasies,  as  it  had  always  done, 
but  these  were  deplorable  only  on  account  of  the  individual 
apostates.  On  the  other  hand,  it  would  reassure  the  faith- 
ful, and  purge  out  the  half-hearted.  Once,  in  the  early 
ages,  Satan's  attack  had  been  made  on  the  bodily  side,  with 
whips  and  fire  and  beasts ;  in  the  sixteenth  century  it  had 
been  on  the  intellectual  side ;  in  the  twentieth  century  on 
the  springs  of  moral  and  spiritual  life.  Now  it  seemed  as  if 
the  assault  was  on  all  three  planes  at  once.  But  what  was 
chiefly  to  be  feared  was  the  positive  influence  of  Humani- 
tarianism:  it  was  coming,  like  the  kingdom  of  God,  with 
power;  it  was  crushing  the  imaginative  and  the  romantic, 
it  was  assuming  rather  than  asserting  its  own  truth ;  it  was 
smothering  with  bolsters  instead  of  wounding  and  stimulat- 
ing with  steel  or  controversy.  It  seemed  to  be  forcing  its 
way,  almost  objectively,  into  the  inner  world.  Persons 
who  had  scarcely  heard  its  name  were  professing  its  tenets ; 
priests  absorbed  it,  as  they  absorbed  God  in  Communion — 
he  mentioned  the  names  of  the  recent  apostates — children 
drank  it  in  like  Christianity  itself.  The  soul  "naturally 
Christian"  seemed  to  be  becoming  "the  soul  naturally  in- 
fidel."   Persecution,  cried  the  priest,  was  to  be  welcomed  like 


136  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

salvation,  praj'ed  for,  and  grasped ;  but  he  feared  that  the 
authorities  were  too  shrewd,  and  knew  the  antidote  and 
the  poison  apart.  There  might  be  individual  martyrdoms 
— in  fact  there  would  be,  and  very  many — but  they  would 
be  in  spite  of  secular  government,  not  because  of  it. 
Finally,  he  expected,  Humanitarianism  would  presently  put 
on  the  dress  of  liturgy  and  sacrifice,  and  when  that  was 
done,  the  Church's  cause,  unless  God  intervened,  would  be 
over. 

Percy  sat  back,  trembling. 

"Yes,  my  son.    And  what  do  you  think  should  be  done?" 

Percy  flung  out  his  hands. 

"Holy  Father — the  mass,  prayer,  the  rosary.  These  first 
and  last.  The  world  denies  their  power :  it  is  on  their  power 
that  Christians  must  throw  all  their  weight.  All  things 
in  Jesus  Christ — in  Jesus  Christ,  first  and  last.  Nothing 
else  can  avail.     He  must  do  all,  for  we  can  do  nothing." 

The  white  head  bowed.     Then  it  rose  erect. 

"Yes,  my  son.  .  .  .  But  so  long  as  Jesus  Christ  deigns 
to  use  us,  we  must  be  used.  He  is  Prophet  and  King  as 
well  as  Priest.  We  then,  too,  must  be  prophet  and  king 
as  well  as  priest.     What  of  Prophecy  and  Royalty  .P" 

The  voice  thrilled  Percy  like  a  trumpet. 

"Yes,  Holiness.  .  .  .  For  prophecy,  then,  let  us  preach 
charity ;  for  Royalty,  let  us  reign  on  crosses.  We  must 
love  and  suffer.  ..."  (He  drew  one  sobbing  breath.) 
"Your  Holiness  has  preached  charity  alwaj's.  Let  charity 
then  issue  in  good  deeds.  Let  us  be  foremost  in  them;  let 
us  engage  in  trade  honestly,  in  family  life  chastely,  in  gov- 
ernment uprightly.  And  as  for  suffering — ah!  Holi- 
ness !" 


THE  ENCOUNTER  137 

His  old  scheme  leaped  back  to  his  mind,  and  stood  poised 
there  convincing  and  imperious. 

"Yes,  my  son,  speak  plainly." 

"Your  Holiness — it  is  old — old  as  Rome — every  fool  has 
desired  it:  a  new  Order,  Holiness — a  new  Order,"  he  stam- 
mered. 

The  white  hand  dropped  the  paper-weight;  the  Pope 
leaned  forward,  looking  intently  at  the  priest. 

"Yes,  my  son?" 

Percy  threw  himself  on  his  knees. 

"A  new  Order,  Holiness — no  habit  or  badge — subject  to 
your  Holiness  only — freer  than  Jesuits,  poorer  than  Fran- 
ciscans, more  mortified  than  Carthusians:  men  and  women 
alike — the  three  vows  with  the  intention  of  martyrdom ;  the 
Pantheon  for  their  Church ;  each  bishop  responsible  for 
their  sustenance ;  a  lieutenant  in  each  country.  .  .  ,  (Holi- 
ness, it  is  the  thought  of  a  fool.)  .  .  .  And  Christ  Cruci- 
fied for  their  patron." 

The  Pope  stood  up  abruptly — so  abruptly  that  Cardinal 
Martin  sprang  up  too,  apprehensive  and  terrified.  It 
seemed  that  this  3oung  man  had  gone  too  far. 

Then  the  Pope  sat  down  again,  extending  his  hand. 

"God  bless  you,  my  son.  You  have  leave  to  go.  .  .  . 
Will  your  Eminence  stay  for  a  few  minutes?" 


CHAPTER  III 


The  Cardinal  said  very  little  to  Percy  when  they  met 
again  that  evening,  beyond  congratulating  him  on  the  way 
he  had  borne  himself  with  the  Pope.  It  seemed  that  the 
priest  had  done  right  by  his  extreme  frankness.  Then  he 
told  him  of  his  duties. 

Percy  was  to  retain  the  couple  of  rooms  that  had  been 
put  at  his  disposal;  he  was  to  say  mass,  as  a  rule,  in  the 
Cardinal's  oratory ;  and  after  that,  at  nine,  he  was  to  pre- 
sent himself  for  instructions :  he  was  to  dine  at  noon  with 
the  Cardinal,  after  which  he  was  to  consider  himself  at 
liberty  till  Ave  Maria:  then,  once  more  he  was  to  be  at 
his  master's  disposal  until  supper.  The  work  he  would 
principally  have  to  do  would  be  the  reading  of  all 
English  correspondence,  and  the  drawing  up  of  a  report 
upon  it. 

Percy  found  it  a  very  pleasant  and  serene  life,  and  the 
sense  of  home  deepened  every  day.  He  had  an  abundance 
of  time  to  himself,  which  he  occupied  resolutely  in  relaxa- 
tion. From  eight  to  nine  he  usually  walked  abroad,  going 
sedately  through  the  streets  with  his  senses  passive,  look- 
ing into  churches,  watching  the  people,  and  gradually 
absorbing  the  strange  naturalness  of  life  under  ancient 
conditions.  At  times  it  appeared  to  him  like  an  historical 
dream ;  at  times  it  seemed  that  there  was  no  other  reality ; 
that  the  silent,  tense  world  of  modem  civilisation  was  itself 


THE  ENCOUNTER  139 

a  phantom,  and  that  here  was  the  simple  naturalness  of  the 
soul's  childhood  back  again.  Even  the  reading  of  the  Eng- 
lish correspondence  did  not  greatly  affect  him,  for  the 
stream  of  his  mind  was  beginning  to  run  clear  again  in  this 
sweet  old  channel;  and  he  read,  dissected,  analysed  and 
diagnosed  with  a  deepening  tranquillity. 

There  was  not,  after  all,  a  great  deal  of  news.  It  was 
a  kind  of  lull  after  storm.  Felsenburgh  was  still  in  retire- 
ment; he  had  refused  the  offers  made  to  him  by  France 
and  Italy,  as  that  of  England ;  and,  although  nothing  defi- 
nite was  announced,  it  seemed  that  he  was  confining  himself 
at  present  to  an  unofl[icial  attitude.  Meanwhile  the  Parlia- 
ments of  Europe  were  busy  in  the  preliminary  stages  of 
code-revision.  Nothing  would  be  done,  it  was  understood, 
until  the  autumn  sessions. 

Life  in  Rome  was  very  strange.  The  city  had  now  be- 
come not  only  the  centre  of  faith  but,  in  a  sense,  a  micro- 
cosm of  it.  It  was  divided  into  four  huge  quarters — 
Anglo-Saxon,  Latin,  Teutonic  and  Eastern  —  besides 
Trastevere,  which  was  occupied  almost  entirely  by  Papal 
oflSces,  seminaries,  and  schools.  Anglo-Saxondom  occupied 
the  southwestern  quarter,  now  entirely  covered  with  houses, 
including  the  Aventine,  the  Celian  and  Testaccio.  The 
Latins  inhabited  old  Rome,  between  the  Course  and  the 
river;  the  Teutons  the  northeastern  quarter,  bounded  on 
the  south  by  St.  Laurence's  Street;  and  the  Easterns  the 
remaining  quarter,  of  which  the  centre  was  the  Lateran. 
In  this  manner  the  true  Romans  were  scarcely  conscious  of 
intrusion ;  they  possessed  a  multitude  of  their  own  churches, 
they  were  allowed  to  revel  in  narrow,  dark  streets  and  hold 
their  markets ;  and  it  was  here  that  Percy  usually  walked, 


140  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

in  a  passion  of  historical  retrospect.  But  the  other  quar- 
ters were  strange  enough,  too.  It  was  curious  to  see  how 
a  progeny  of  Gothic  churches,  served  by  northern  priests, 
had  grown  up  naturally  in  the  Anglo-Saxon  and  Teutonic 
districts,  and  how  the  wide,  grey  streets,  the  neat  pave-r 
ments,  the  severe  houses,  showed  how  the  northerns  had  not 
yet  realised  the  requirements  of  southern  life.  The  East- 
erns, on  the  other  hand,  resembled  the  Latins ;  their  streets 
were  as  narrow  and  dark,  their  smells  as  overwhelming, 
their  churches  as  dirty  and  as  homely,  and  their  colours 
even  more  brilliant. 

Outside  the  walls  the  confusion  was  indescribable.  If  the 
city  represented  a  carved  miniature  of  the  world,  the  sub- 
urbs represented  the  same  model  broken  into  a  thousand 
pieces,  tumbled  in  a  bag  and  shot  out  at  random.  So  far 
as  the  eye  could  see,  on  all  sides  from  the  roof  of  the  Vati- 
can, there  stretched  an  endless  plain  of  house-roofs,  broken 
by  spires,  towers,  domes  and  chimneys,  under  which  lived 
human  beings  of  every  race  beneath  the  sun.  Here  were 
the  great  manufactories,  the  monster  buildings  of  the  new 
world,  the  stations,  the  schools,  the  offices,  all  under  secular 
dominion,  yet  surrounded  by  six  millions  of  souls  who  lived 
here  for  love  of  religion.  It  was  these  who  had  despaired 
of  modern  life,  tired  out  with  change  and  effort,  who  had 
fled  from  the  new  system  for  refuge  to  the  Church,  but 
who  could  not  obtain  leave  to  live  in  the  city  itself.  New 
houses  were  continually  springing  up  in  all  directions.  A 
gigantic  compass,  fixed  by  one  leg  in  Rome,  and  with  a  span 
of  five  miles,  would,  if  twirled,  revolve  through  packed 
streets  through  its  entire  circle.  Beyond  that  too  houses 
stretched  into  the  indefinite  distance. 


THE  ENCOUNTER  141 

But  Percy  did  not  realise  the  significance  of  all  that  he 
saw,  until  the  occasion  of  the  Pope's  name-day  towards  the 
end  of  August. 

It  was  yet  cool  and  early,  when  he  followed  his  patron, 
whom  he  was  to  serve  as  chaplain,  along  the  broad  passages 
of  the  Vatican  towards  the  room  where  the  Pope  and  Cardi- 
nals were  to  assemble.  Through  a  window,  as  he  looked  out 
into  the  Piazza,  the  crowd  was  yet  more  dense,  if  that  were 
possible,  than  it  had  been  an  hour  before.  The  huge  oval 
square  was  cobbled  with  heads,  through  which  ran  a  broad 
road,  kept  by  papal  troops  for  the  passage  of  the  car- 
riages ;  and  up  the  broad  ribbon,  white  in  the  eastern  light, 
came  monstrous  vehicles,  a  blaze  of  gilding  and  colour  and 
cream  tint;  slow  cheers  swelled  up  and  died,  and  through 
all  came  the  rush  and  patter  of  wheels  over  the  stones,  like 
the  sound  of  a  tide-swept  pebbly  beach. 

As  they  waited  in  an  ante-chamber,  halted  by  the  pres- 
sure in  front  and  behind — a  pack  of  scarlet  and  white  and 
purple — he  looked  out  again,  and  reahsed  what  he  had 
known  only  intellectually  before,  that  here  before  his  eyes 
was  the  royalty  of  the  old  world  assembled — and  he  began 
to  perceive  its  significance. 

Round  the  steps  of  the  basilica  spread  a  great  fan  of 
coaches,  each  yoked  to  eight  horses — the  white  of  France 
and  Spain,  the  black  of  Germany,  Italy  and  Russia,  and 
the  cream-coloured  of  England.  Those  stood  out  in  the 
near  half-circle,  and  beyond  was  the  sweep  of  the  lesser 
powers:  Greece,  Norway,  Sweden,  Roumania  and  the 
Balkan  States.  One,  the  Turk,  was  alone  wanting,  he  re- 
minded himself.  The  emblems  of  some  were  visible — 
eagles,  lions,  leopards — guarding  the  royal  crown  above  the 


142  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

roof  of  each.  From  the  foot  of  the  steps  to  the  head  ran 
a  broad  scarlet  carpet,  Hned  with  soldiers. 

Percy  leaned  against  the  shutter,  and  began  to  meditate. 

Here  was  all  that  was  left  of  Royalty.  He  had  seen  their 
palaces  before,  here  and  there  in  the  various  quarters,  with 
standards  flying,  and  scarlet-liveried  men  lounging  on  the 
steps.  He  had  raised  his  hat  a  dozen  times  as  a  landau 
thundered  past  him  up  the  Course ;  he  had  even  seen  the 
lilies  of  France  and  the  leopards  of  England  pass  together 
in  the  solemn  parade  of  the  Pincian  Hill.  He  had  read  in 
the  papers  every  now  and  again  during  the  last  five  years 
that  family  after  family  had  made  its  way  to  Rome,  after 
papal  recognition  had  been  granted;  he  had  been  told  by 
the  Cardinal  on  the  previous  evening  that  William  of  Eng- 
land, with  his  Consort,  had  landed  at  Ostia  in  the  morn- 
ing and  that  the  tale  of  the  Powers  was  complete.  But  he 
had  never  before  realised  the  stupendous,  overwhelming  fact 
of  the  assembly  of  the  world's  royalty  under  the  shadow 
of  Peter's  Throne,  nor  the  appalling  danger  that  its  pres- 
ence constituted  in  the  midst  of  a  democratic  world.  That 
world,  he  knew,  affected  to  laugh  at  the  folly  and  the  child- 
ishness of  it  all — at  the  desperate  play-acting  of  Divine 
Right  on  the  part  of  fallen  and  despised  families ;  but  the 
same  world,  he  knew  very  well,  had  not  yet  lost  quite  all 
its  sentiment ;  and  if  that  sentiment  should  happen  to  be- 
come resentful 

The  pressure  relaxed ;  Percy  slipped  out  of  the  recess,  and 
followed  in  the  slow-moving  stream. 

Half-an-hour  later  he  was  in  his  place  among  the  ec- 
clesiastics, as  the  papal  procession  came  out  through  the 
glimmering  dusk  of  the  chapel  of  the  Blessed  Sacrament 


THE  ENCOUNTER  143 

into  the  nave  of  the  enormous  church ;  but  even  before  he 
had  entered  the  chapel  he  heard  the  quiet  roar  of  recogni- 
tion and  the  cry  of  the  trumpets  that  greeted  the  Supreme 
Pontiff  as  he  came  out,  a  hundred  yards  ahead,  borne  on 
the  sedia  gestatoria,  with  the  fans  going  behind  him. 
When  Percy  himself  came  out,  five  minutes  later,  walking 
in  his  quaternion,  and  saw  the  sight  that  was  waiting,  he 
remembered  with  a  sudden  throb  at  his  heart  that  other 
sight  he  had  seen  in  London  in  a  summer  dawn  three  months 
before.  .    .    . 

Far  ahead,  seeming  to  cleave  its  way  through  the  surging 
heads,  like  the  poop  of  an  ancient  ship,  moved  the  canopy 
beneath  which  sat  the  Lord  of  the  world,  and  between  him 
and  the  priest,  as  if  it  were  the  wake  of  that  same  ship, 
swayed  the  gorgeous  procession — Protonotaries  Apostohc, 
Generals  of  Religious  Orders  and  the  rest — making  its  way 
along  with  white,  gold,  scarlet  and  silver  foam  between 
the  living  banks  on  either  side.  Overhead  hung  the  splen- 
did barrel  of  the  roof,  and  far  in  front  the  haven  of  God's 
altar  reared  its  monstrous  pillars,  beneath  which  burned  the 
seven  yellow  stars  that  were  the  harbour  lights  of  sanctity. 
It  was  an  astonishing  sight,  but  too  vast  and  bewildering 
to  do  anything  but  oppress  the  observers  with  a  conscious- 
ness of  their  own  futility.  The  enormous  enclosed  air,  the 
giant  statues,  the  dim  and  distant  roofs,  the  indescribable 
concert  of  sound — of  the  movement  of  feet,  the  murmur  of 
ten  thousand  voices,  the  peal  of  organs  like  the  crying  of 
gnats,  the  thin  celestial  music — the  faint  suggestive  smell 
of  incense  and  men  and  bruised  bay  and  myrtle — and,  su- 
preme above  all,  the  vibrant  atmosphere  of  human  emotion, 
shot  with   supernatural  aspiration,   as  the  Hope   of  the 


144.  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

World,  the  holder  of  Divine  Vice-Royalty,  passed  on  his 
way  to  stand  between  God  and  man — this  affected  the 
priest  as  the  action  of  a  drug  that  at  once  lulls  and  stimu- 
lates, that  blinds  while  it  gives  new  vision,  that  deafens 
while  it  opens  stopped  ears,  that  exalts  while  it  plunges  into 
new  gulfs  of  consciousness.  Llere,  then,  was  the  other 
formulated  answer  to  the  problem  of  life.  The  two  Cities 
of  Augustine  lay  for  him  to  choose.  The  one  was  that  of 
a  world  self-originated,  self-organised  and  self-sufficient, 
interpreted  by  such  men  as  Marx  and  Herve,  socialists, 
materialists,  and,  in  the  end,  hedonists,  summed  up  at  last 
in  Felsenburgh.  The  other  lay  displayed  in  the  sight  he 
saw  before  him,  telling  of  a  Creator  and  of  a  creation,  of 
a  Divine  purpose,  a  redemption,  and  a  world  transcendent 
and  eternal  from  which  all  sprang  and  to  which  all  moved. 
One  of  the  two,  John  and  Julian,  was  the  Vicar,  and  the 
other  the  Ape,  of  God.  .  .  .  And  Percy's  heart  in  one  more 
spasm  of  conviction  made  its  choice.  .    .    . 

But  the  summit  was  not  yet  reached. 

As  Percy  came  at  last  out  from  the  nave  beneath  the  dome, 
on  his  way  to  the  tribune  beyond  the  papal  throne,  he  be- 
came aware  of  a  new  element. 

A  great  space  was  cleared  about  the  altar  and  confession, 
extending,  as  he  could  see  at  least  on  his  side,  to  the  point 
that  marked  the  entrance  to  the  transepts ;  at  this  point 
ran  rails  straight  across  from  side  to  side,  continuing  the 
lines  of  the  nave.  Beyond  this  red-hung  barrier  lay  a  grad- 
ual slope  of  faces,  white  and  motionless ;  a  glimmer  of  steel 
bounded  it,  and  above,  a  third  of  the  distance  down  the 
transept,  rose  in  solemn  serried  array  a  line  of  canopies. 
These  were  of  scarlet,  like  cardinalitial  baldachini,  but  upon 


THE  ENCOUNTER  146 

the  upright  surface  of  each  burned  gigantic  coats  sup- 
ported by  beasts  and  topped  b^'  crowns.  Under  each  was  a 
figure  or  two — no  more — in  splendid  isolation,  and  through 
the  interspaces  between  the  thrones  showed  again  a  misty 
slope  of  faces. 

His  heart  quickened  as  he  saw  it — as  he  swept  his  eyes 
round  and  across  to  the  right  and  saw  as  in  a  mirror  the 
replica  of  the  left  in  the  right  transept.  It  was  there  then 
that  they  sat — those  lonely  survivors  of  that  strange  com- 
pany of  persons  who,  till  half-a-century  ago,  had  reigned 
as  God's  temporal  Vicegerents  with  the  consent  of  their  sub- 
jects. They  were  unrecognised,  now,  save  by  Him  from 
whom  they  drew  their  sovereignty — pinnacles  clustering 
and  hanging  from  a  dome,  from  which  the  walls  had  been 
withdrawn.  These  were  men  and  women  who  had  learned 
at  last  that  power  comes  from  above,  and  their  title  to  rule 
came  not  from  their  subjects  but  from  the  Supreme  Ruler 
of  all — shepherds  without  sheep,  captains  without  soldiers 
to  command.  It  was  piteous — horribly  piteous,  yet  inspir- 
ing. The  act  of  faith  was  so  sublime ;  and  Percy's  heart 
quickened  as  he  understood  it.  These,  then,  men  and  women 
like  himself,  were  not  ashamed  to  appeal  from  man  to  God, 
to  assume  insignia  which  the  world  regarded  as  playthings, 
but  which  to  them  were  emblems  of  supernatural  commis- 
sion. Was  there  not  mirrored  here,  he  asked  himself,  some 
far-off  shadow  of  One  Who  rode  on  the  colt  of  an  ass  amid 
the  sneers  of  the  great  and  the  enthusiasm  of  children  ?  .   .   . 

It  was  yet  more  kindling  as  the  mass  went  on,  and  he 
saw  the  male  sovereigns  come  down  to  do  their  services  at 
the  altar,  and  to  go  to  and  fro  between  it  and  the  Throne. 


146  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

There  they  went  bareheaded,  the  stately  silent  figures. 
The  English  king,  once  again  Fidei  Defensor,  bore  the 
train  in  place  of  the  old  king  of  Spain,  who,  with  the  Aus- 
trian Emperor,  alone  of  all  European  sovereigns,  had  pre- 
served the  unbroken  continuity  of  faith.  The  old  man 
leaned  over  his  f  aid-stool,  mumbling  and  weeping,  even  cry- 
ing out  now  and  again  in  love  and  devotion,  as,  like  Simeon, 
he  saw  his  Salvation.  The  Austrian  Emperor  twice  ad- 
ministered the  Lavabo;  the  German  sovereign,  who  had  lost 
his  throne  and  all  but  his  life  upon  his  conversion  four 
years  before,  by  a  new  privilege  placed  and  withdrew  the 
cushion,  as  his  Lord  kneeled  before  the  Lord  of  them  both. 
So  movement  by  movement  the  gorgeous  drama  was 
enacted ;  the  murmuring  of  the  crowds  died  to  a  stillness 
that  was  but  one  wordless  prayer  as  the  tiny  White  Disc  rose 
between  the  white  hands,  and  the  thin  angelic  music  pealed 
in  the  dome.  For  here  was  the  one  hope  of  these  thou- 
sands, as  mighty  and  as  little  as  once  within  the  Manger. 
There  was  none  other  that  fought  for  them  but  only  God. 
Surely  then,  if  the  blood  of  men  and  the  tears  of  women 
could  not  avail  to  move  the  Judge  and  Observer  of  all  from 
His  silence,  surely  at  least  here  the  bloodless  Death  of  His 
only  Son,  that  once  on  Calvary  had  darkened  heaven  and 
rent  the  earth,  pleaded  now  with  such  sorrowful  splendour 
upon  this  island  of  faith  amid  a  sea  of  laughter  and  hatred 
— this  at  least  must  avail !    How  could  it  not  ? 

Percy  had  just  sat  down,  tired  out  with  the  long  cere- 
monies, when  the  door  opened  abruptly,  and  the  Cardinal, 
still  in  his  robes,  came  in  swiftly,  shutting  the  door  behind 
him. 


THE  ENCOUNTER  14i7 

"Father  Franklin,"  he  said,  in  a  strange  breathless  voice, 
**there  is  the  worst  of  news.  Felsenburgh  is  appointed 
President  of  Europe." 


II 


It  was  late  that  night  before  Percy  returned,  completely 
exhaustt-d  by  his  labours.  For  hour  after  hour  he  had  sat 
with  the  Cardinal,  opening  despatches  that  poured  into  the 
electric  receivers  from  all  over  Europe,  and  were  brought 
in  one  by  one  into  the  quiet  sitting-room.  Three  times  in 
the  afternoon  the  Cardinal  had  been  sent  for,  once  by  the 
Pope  and  twice  to  the  Quirinal. 

There  was  no  doubt  at  all  that  the  news  was  true ;  and  it 
seemed  that  Felsenburgh  must  have  waited  deliberately  for 
the  offer.  All  others  he  had  refused.  There  had  been  a 
Convention  of  the  Powers,  each  of  whom  had  been  anxious 
to  secure  him,  and  each  of  whom  had  severally  failed ;  these 
private  claims  had  been  withdrawn,  and  an  united  message 
sent.  The  new  proposal  was  to  the  effect  that  Felsenburgh 
should  assume  a  position  hitherto  undreamed  of  in 
democracy ;  that  he  should  receive  a  House  of  Government 
in  every  capital  of  Europe;  that  his  veto  of  any  measure 
should  be  final  for  three  years ;  that  any  measure  he  chose 
to  introduce  three  times  in  three  consecutive  years  should 
become  law ;  that  his  title  should  be  that  of  President  of 
Europe.  From  his  side  practically  nothing  was  asked,  ex- 
cept that  he  should  refuse  any  other  official  position  offered 
him  that  did  not  receive  the  sanction  of  all  the  Powers. 

And  all  this,  Percy  saw  very  well,  involved  the  danger  of 
an  united  Europe  increased  tenfold.     It  involved  all  the 


148  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

stupendous  force  of  Socialism  directed  by  a  brilliant  in- 
dividual. It  was  the  combination  of  the  strongest  char- 
acteristics of  the  two  methods  of  government.  The  offer 
had  been  accepted  by  Felsenburgh  after  eight  hours'  silence. 

It  was  remarkable,  too,  to  observe  how  the  news  had  been 
accepted  by  the  two  other  divisions  of  the  world.  The  East 
was  enthusiastic ;  America  was  divided.  But  in  any  case 
America  was  powerless :  the  balance  of  the  world  was  over- 
whelmingly against  her. 

Peivy  threw  himself,  as  he  was,  on  to  his  bed,  and  lay 
there  with  drumming  pulses,  closed  eyes  and  a  huge  despair 
at  his  heart.  The  world  indeed  had  risen  like  a  giant  over 
the  horizons  of  Rome,  and  the  holy  city  was  no  better  now 
than  a  sand  castle  before  a  tide.  So  much  he  grasped.  As 
to  how  ruin  would  come,  in  what  form  and  from  what  di- 
rection, he  neither  knew  nor  cared.  Only  he  knew  now  that 
it  would  come. 

He  had  learned  by  now  something  of  his  own  tempera- 
ment ;  and  he  turned  his  eyes  inwards  to  observe  himself 
bitterly,  as  a  doctor  in  mortal  disease  might  with  a  dreadful 
complacency  diagnose  his  own  symptoms.  It  was  even  a  re- 
lief to  turn  from  the  monstrous  mechanism  of  the  world  to 
see  in  miniature  one  hopeless  human  heart.  For  his  own 
religion  he  no  longer  feared;  he  knew,  as  absolutely  as  a 
man  may  know  the  colour  of  his  eyes,  that  it  was  secure 
again  and  beyond  shaking.  During  those  weeks  in  Rome 
the  cloudy  deposit  had  run  clear  and  the  channel  was  once 
more  visible.  Or,  better  still,  that  vast  erection  of  dogma, 
ceremony,  custom  and  morals  in  which  he  had  been  edu- 
cated, and  on  which  he  had  looked  all  his  life  (as  a  man 
may  stare  upon  some  great  set-piece  that  bewilders  him), 


THE  ENCOUNTER  149 

seeing  now  one  spark  of  light,  now  another,  flare  and  wane 
in  the  darkness,  had  httle  by  httle  kindled  and  revealed 
itself  in  one  stupendous  blaze  of  divine  fire  that  explains 
itself.  Huge  principles,  once  bewildering  and  even  repel- 
lent, were  again  luminously  self-evident ;  he  saw,  for  exam- 
ple, that  while  Humanity-Religion  endeavoured  to  abolish 
suffering  the  Divine  Religion  embraced  it,  so  that  the  blind 
pangs  even  of  beasts  were  within  the  Father's  Will  and 
Scheme;  or  that  while  from  one  angle  one  colour  only  of 
the  web  of  life  was  visible — material,  or  intellectual,  or 
artistic — from  another  the  Supernatural  was  as  eminently 
obvious.  Humanity-Religion  could  only  be  true  if  at  least 
half  of  man's  nature,  aspirations  and  sorrows  were  ignored. 
Christianity,  on  the  other  hand,  at  least  included  and  ac- 
counted for  these,  even  if  it  did  not  explain  them.  This 
.  .  .  and  this  .  .  .  and  this  ...  all  made  the  one  and 
perfect  whole.  There  was  the  Catholic  Faith,  more  certain 
to  him  than  the  existence  of  himself:  it  was  true  and  alive. 
He  might  be  damned,  but  God  reigned.  He  might  go  mad, 
but  Jesus  Christ  was  Incarnate  Deity,  proving  Himself  so 
by  death  and  Resurrection,  and  John  his  Vicar.  These 
things  were  as  the  bones  of  the  Universe — facts  beyond 
doubting — if  they  were  not  true,  nothing  anywhere  was 
anj^thing  but  a  dream. 

Difficulties? — Why,  there  were  ten  thousand.  He  did  not 
in  the  least  understand  why  God  had  made  the  world  as 
it  was,  nor  how  Hell  could  be  the  creation  of  Love,  nor 
how  bread  was  transubstantiated  into  the  Body  of  God — 
but — well,  these  things  Mere  so.  He  had  travelled  far,  he 
began  to  see,  from  his  old  status  of  faith,  when  he  had  be- 
lieved that  divine  truth  could  be  demonstrated  on  intellec- 


150  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

tual  grounds.  He  had  learned  now  (he  knew  not  how) 
that  the  supernatural  cried  to  the  supernatural;  the  Christ 
without  to  the  Christ  within ;  that  pure  human  reason  in- 
deed could  not  contradict,  yet  neither  could  it  adequately 
prove  the  mysteries  of  faith,  except  on  premisses  visible 
only  to  him  who  receives  Revelation  as  a  fact,  that  it  is  the 
moral  state,  rather  than  the  intellectual,  to  which  the  Spirit 
of  God  speaks  with  the  greater  certitude.  That  which  he 
had  both  learned  and  taught  he  now  knew,  that  Faith,  hav- 
ing, like  man  himself,  a  body  and  a  spirit — an  historical 
expression  and  an  inner  verity — speaks  now  by  one,  now 
by  another.  This  man  believes  because  he  sees — accepts  the 
Incarnation  or  the  Church  from  its  credentials ;  that  man, 
perceiving  that  these  things  are  spiritual  facts,  yields  him- 
self wholly  to  the  message  and  authority  of  her  who  alone 
professes  them,  as  well  as  to  the  manifestation  of  them 
upon  the  historical  plane ;  and  in  the  darkness  leans  upon 
her  arm.  Or,  best  of  all,  because  he  has  believed,  now  he 
sees. 

So  he  looked  with  a  kind  of  interested  indolence  at  other 
tracts  of  his  nature. 

First,  there  was  his  intellect,  puzzled  beyond  description, 
demanding,  Why,  why,  why.?  Why  was  it  allowed.''  How 
was  it  conceivable  that  God  did  not  intervene,  and  that  the 
Father  of  men  could  permit  His  dear  world  to  be  so 
ranged  against  Him.'*  What  did  He  mean  to  do.^*  Was 
this  eternal  silence  never  to  be  broken?  It  was  very  well 
for  those  that  had  the  Faith,  but  what  of  the  countless  mil- 
lions who  were  settling  down  in  contented  blasphemy.'' 
Were  these  not,  too.  His  children  and  the  sheep  of  His  pas- 
ture.''    What  was  the  Catholic  Church  made  for  if  not  to 


THE  ENCOUNTER  151 

convert  the  world,  and  why  then  had  Almighty  God  allowed 
it,  on  the  one  side,  to  dwindle  to  a  handful,  and,  on  the 
other,  the  world  to  find  its  peace  apart  from  Him? 

He  considered  his  emotions,  but  there  was  no  comfort 
there,  no  stimulus.  Oh !  yes ;  he  could  pray  still,  by  mere 
cold  acts  of  the  will,  and  his  theology  told  him  that  God 
accepted  such.  He  could  say  "Adveniat  regnum  tuum. 
.  .  .  Fiat  voluntas  tua"  five  thousand  times  a  day,  if  God 
wanted  that;  but  there  was  no  sting  or  touch,  no  sense  of 
vibration  through  the  cords  that  his  will  threw  up  to  the 
Heavenly  Throne.  What  in  the  world  then  did  God  want 
him  to  do.?  Was  it  just  then  to  repeat  formulas,  to  lie 
still,  to  open  despatches,  to  listen  through  the  telephone, 
and  to  suffer. 

And  then  the  rest  of  the  world — the  madness  that  had 
seized  upon  the  nations ;  the  amazing  stories  that  had 
poured  in  that  day  of  the  men  in  Paris,  who,  raving  like 
Bacchantes,  had  stripped  themselves  naked  in  the  Place  de 
Concorde,  and  stabbed  themselves  to  the  heart,  crying  out 
to  thunders  of  applause  that  life  was  too  enthralling  to  be 
endured ;  of  the  woman  who  sang  herself  mad  last  night  in 
Spain,  and  fell  laughing  and  foaming  in  the  concert  hall 
at  Seville ;  of  the  crucifixion  of  the  Cathohcs  that  morning 
in  the  Pyrenees,  and  the  apostasy  of  three  bishops  in  Ger- 
many. .  .  .  And  this  .  .  .  and  this  .  .  .  and  a  thousand 
more  horrors  were  permitted,  and  God  made  no  sign  and 
spoke  no  word.  .   .   . 

There  was  a  tap,  and  Percy  sprang  up  as  the  Cardinal 
came  in. 

He  looked  horribly  worn;  and  his  eyes  had  a  kind  of 


152  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

sunken  brilliance  that  revealed  fever.  He  made  a  little  mo- 
tion to  Percy  to  sit  down,  and  himself  sat  in  the  deep  chair, 
trembling  a  little,  and  gathering  his  buckled  feet  beneath 
his  red-buttoned  cassock. 

"You  must  forgive  me,  father,"  he  said.  "I  am  anxious 
for  the  Bishop's  safety.     He  should  be  here  by  now." 

This  was  the  Bishop  of  Southwark,  Percy  remembered, 
who  had  left  England  early  that  morning. 

"He  is  coming  straight  through,  your  Eminence.?" 

"Yes ;  he  should  have  been  here  by  twenty-three.  It  is 
after  midnight,  is  it  not  ?" 

As  he  spoke,  the  bells  chimed  out  the  half-hour. 

It  was  nearly  quiet  now.  All  day  the  air  had  been  full  of 
sound ;  mobs  had  paraded  the  suburbs ;  the  gates  of  the 
City  had  been  barred,  yet  that  was  only  an  earnest  of  what 
was  to  be  expected  when  the  world  understood  itself. 

The  Cardinal  seemed  to  recover  himself  after  a  few  min- 
utes' silence. 

"You  look  tired  out,  father,"  he  said  kindly. 

Percy  smiled. 

"And  your  Eminence.''"  he  said. 

The  old  man  smiled  too. 

"Why,  yes,"  he  said.  "I  shall  not  last  much  longer, 
father.     And  then  it  will  be  you  to  suffer." 

Percy  sat  up,  suddenly,  sick  at  heart. 

"Why,  yes,"  said  the  Cardinal.  "The  Holy  Father  has 
arranged  it.  You  are  to  succeed  me,  you  know.  It  need 
be  no  secret." 

Percy  drew  a  long  trembling  breath. 

"Eminence,"  he  began  piteously. 

The  other  lifted  a  thin  old  hand. 


THE  ENCOUNTER  163 

"I  understand  all  that,"  he  said  softly.  "You  wish  to  die, 
is  it  not  so? — and  be  at  peace.  There  are  many  who  wish 
that.  But  we  must  suffer  first.  Et  pati  et  mori.  Father 
Franklin,  there  must  be  no  faltering." 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

The  news  was  too  stunning  to  convey  anything  to  the 
priest  but  a  sense  of  horrible  shock.  The  thought  had 
simply  never  entered  his  mind  that  he,  a  man  under  forty, 
should  be  considered  eligible  to  succeed  this  wise,  patient 
old  prelate.  As  for  the  honour — Percy  was  past  that  now, 
even  had  he  thought  of  it.  There  was  but  one  view  before 
him — of  a  long  and  intolerable  journey,  on  a  road  that 
went  uphill,  to  be  traversed  with  a  burden  on  his  shoulders 
that  he  could  not  support. 

Yet  he  recognised  its  inevitability.  The  fact  was  an- 
nounced to  him  as  indisputable ;  it  was  to  be ;  there  was 
nothing  to  be  said.  But  it  was  as  if  one  more  gulf  had 
opened,  and  he  stared  into  it  with  a  dull,  sick  horror,  in- 
capable of  expression. 

The  Cardinal  first  broke  the  silence. 

"Father  Franklin,"  he  said,  "I  have  seen  to-day  a  picture 
of  Felscnburgh.    Do  you  know  whom  I  at  first  took  it  for.''" 

Percy  smiled  listlessly. 

"Yes,  father,  I  took  it  for  you.  Now,  what  do  you  make 
of  that?" 

"I  don't  understand,  Eminence." 

"Why — "  He  broke  off,  suddenly  changing  the  sub- 
ject. 

"There  was  a  murder  in  the  City  to-day,"  he  said.  "A 
Catholic  stabbed  a  blasphemer." 

Percy  glanced  at  him  again. 


154.  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"Oh !  yes ;  he  has  not  attempted  to  escape,"  went  on  the 
old  man.     "He  is  in  gaol." 

"And " 

"He  will  be  executed.  The  trial  will  begin  to-morrow. 
.  .  .  It  is  sad  enough.  It  is  the  first  murder  for  eight 
months." 

The  irony  of  the  position  was  evident  enough  to  Percy  as 
he  sat  listening  to  the  deepening  silence  outside  in  the  star- 
lit night.  Here  was  this  poor  city  pretending  that  noth- 
ing was  the  matter,  quietly  administering  its  derided  jus- 
tice; and  there,  outside,  were  the  forces  gathering  that 
would  put  an  end  to  all.  His  enthusiasm  seemed  dead. 
There  was  no  thrill  from  the  thought  of  the  splendid  disre- 
gard of  material  facts  of  which  this  was  one  tiny  instance, 
none  of  despairing  courage  or  drunken  recklessness.  He 
felt  hke  one  who  watches  a  fly  washing  his  face  on  the 
cylinder  of  an  engine — the  huge  steel  slides  along  bearing 
the  tiny  life  towards  enormous  death — another  moment  and 
it  will  be  over ;  and  yet  the  watcher  cannot  interfere.  The 
supernatural  thus  lay,  perfect  and  alive,  but  immeasurably 
tiny ;  the  huge  forces  were  in  motion,  the  world  was  heaving 
up,  and  Percy  could  do  nothing  but  stare  and  frown.  Yet, 
as  has  been  said,  there  was  no  shadow  on  his  faith ;  the  fly 
he  knew  was  greater  than  the  engine  from  the  superiority 
of  its  order  of  life ;  if  it  were  crushed,  life  would  not  be  the 
final  suff^erer;  so  much  he  knew,  but  hoAV  it  was  so,  he  did 
not  know. 

As  the  two  sat  there,  again  came  a  step  and  a  tap ;  and  a 
servant's  face  looked  in. 

"His  Lordship  is  come.  Eminence,"  he  said. 

The  Cardinal  rose  painfully,  supporting  himself  by  the 


THE  ENCOUNTER  155 

table.  Then  he  paused,  seeming  to  remember  something, 
and  fumbled  in  his  pocket. 

"See  that,  father,"  he  said,  and  pushed  a  small  silver  disc 
towards  the  priest.     "No ;  when  I  am  gone." 

Percy  closed  the  door  and  came  back,  taking  up  the  little 
round  object. 

It  was  a  coin,  fresh  from  the  mint.  On  one  side  was  the 
familiar  wreath  with  the  word  "fivepence"  in  the  midst,  with 
its  Esperanto  equivalent  beneath,  and  on  the  other  the 
profile  of  a  man,  with  an  inscription.  Percy  turned  it  to 
read: 

"Julian  Felsenburgh,  la  Prezidante  de  Uropo." 


Ill 


It  was  at  ten  o'clock  on  the  following  morning  that  the 
Cardinals  were  summoned  to  the  Pope's  presence  to  hear 
the  allocution. 

Percy,  from  his  seat  among  the  Consultors,  watched  them 
come  in,  men  of  every  nation  and  temperament  and  age — 
the  Italians  all  together,  gesticulating,  and  flashing  teeth ; 
the  Anglo-Saxons  steady-faced  and  serious ;  an  old  French 
Cardinal  leaning  on  his  stick,  walking  with  the  English 
Benedictine.  It  was  one  of  the  great  plain  stately  rooms 
of  which  the  Vatican  now  chiefly  consisted,  seated  length- 
wise like  a  chapel.  At  the  lower  end,  traversed  by  the  gang- 
way, were  the  seats  of  the  Consultors ;  at  the  upper  end, 
the  dais  with  the  papal  throne.  Three  or  four  benches 
with  desks  before  them,  standing  out  beyond  the  Consul- 


156  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

tors'  seats,  were  reserved  for  the  arrivals  of  the  day  before 
— prelates  and  priests  who  had  poured  into  Rome  from 
every  European  country  on  the  announcement  of  the  amaz- 
ing news. 

Percy  had  not  an  idea  as  to  what  would  be  said.  It  was 
scarcely  possible  that  nothing  but  platitudes  would  be  ut- 
tered, yet  what  else  could  be  said  in  view  of  the  complete 
doubtfulness  of  the  situation?  All  that  was  known  even 
this  morning  was  that  the  Presidentship  of  Europe  was  a 
fact ;  the  little  silver  coin  he  had  seen  witnessed  to  that ; 
that  there  had  been  an  outburst  of  persecution,  repressed 
sternly  by  local  authorities ;  and  that  Felsenburgh  was  to- 
day to  begin  his  tour  from  capital  to  capital.  He  was 
expected  in  Turin  by  the  end  of  the  week.  From  every 
Catholic  centre  throughout  the  world  had  come  in  mes- 
sages imploring  guidance ;  it  was  said  that  apostasy 
was  rising  like  a  tidal  wave,  that  persecution  threatened 
everywhere,  and  that  even  bishops  were  beginning  to 
yield. 

As  for  the  Holy  Father,  all  was  doubtful.  Those  who 
knew,  said  nothing ;  and  the  only  rumour  that  escaped  was 
to  the  effect  that  he  had  spent  all  night  in  prayer  at  the 
tomb  of  the  Apostle.   .    .    . 

The  murmur  died  suddenly  to  a  rustle  and  a  silence ;  there 
was  a  ripple  of  sinking  heads  along  the  seats  as  the  door 
beside  the  canopy  opened,  and  a  moment  later  John,  Pater 
Patrum,  was  on  his  throne. 

At  first  Percy  understood  nothing.  He  stared  only,  as  at 
a  picture,  through  the  dusty  sunlight  that  poured  in  through 
the  shrouded  windows,  at  the  scarlet  lines  to  right  and  left, 


THE  ENCOUNTER  157 

up  to  the  huge  scarlet  canopy,  and  the  white  figure  that  sat 
there.  Certainly,  these  southerners  understood  the  power 
of  effect.  It  was  as  vivid  and  impressive  as  a  vision  of  the 
Host  in  a  jewelled  monstrance.  Every  accessory  was  gor- 
geous, the  high  room,  the  colour  of  the  robes,  the  chains 
and  crosses,  and  as  the  eye  moved  along  to  its  climax  it  was 
met  by  a  piece  of  dead  white — as  if  glory  was  exhausted 
and  declared  itself  impotent  to  tell  the  supreme  secret. 
Scarlet  and  purple  and  gold  were  well  enough  for  those 
who  stood  on  the  steps  of  the  throne — they  needed  it ;  but 
for  Him  who  sat  there  nothing  was  needed.  Let  colours 
die  and  sounds  faint  in  the  presence  of  God's  Viceroy.  Yet 
what  expression  was  required  found  itself  adequately  pro- 
vided in  that  beautiful  oval  face,  the  poised  imperious 
head,  the  sweet  brilliant  eyes  and  the  clean-curved  lips  that 
spoke  so  strongly.  There  was  not  a  sound  in  the  room, 
not  a  rustle,  nor  a  breathing — even  without  it  seemed  as  if 
the  world  were  allowing  the  supernatural  to  state  its  de- 
fence uninterruptedly,  before  summing  up  and  clamouring 
condemnation. 

Percy  made  a  violent  effort  at  self-repression,  clenched 
his  hands  and  listened. 

"...  Since  this  then  is  so,  sons  in  Jesus  Christ,  it  is 
for  us  to  answer.  We  wrestle  not,  as  the  Doctor  of  the 
Gentiles  teaches  us,  against  flesh  and  blood,  but  against 
principalities  and  powers,  against  the  rulers  of  the  world 
of  this  darkness,  against  the  spirits  of  wickedness  in  the 
high  places.  Wherefore,  he  continues,  take  unto  you  the 
armour  of  God;  and  he  further  declares  to  us  its  nature — 
the  girdle  of  truth,  the  breastplate  of  justice,  the  shoes  of 


158  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

peace,  the  shield  of  faith,  the  helmet  of  salvation,  and  the 
sword  of  the  Spirit. 

"By  this,  therefore,  the  Word  of  God  bids  us  to  war,  but 
not  with  the  weapons  of  this  world,  for  neither  is  His 
kingdom  of  this  world;  and  it  is  to  remind  you  of  the 
principles  of  this  warfare  that  we  have  summoned  you  to 
Our  Presence." 

The  voice  paused,  and  there  was  a  rustling  sigh  along  the 
seats.     Then  the  voice  continued  on  a  slightly  higher  note. 

"It  has  ever  been  the  wisdom  of  Our  predecessors,  as  is 
also  their  duty,  while  keeping  silence  at  certain  seasons,  at 
others  to  speak  freely  the  whole  counsel  of  God.  From 
this  duty  We  Ourself  must  not  be  deterred  by  the  knowledge 
of  Our  own  weakness  and  ignorance,  but  to  trust  rather 
that  He  Who  has  placed  Us  on  this  throne  will  deign  to 
speak  through  Our  mouth  and  use  Our  words  to  His  glory. 

"First,  then,  it  is  necessary  to  utter  Our  sentence  as  to  the 
new  movement,  as  men  call  it,  which  has  latterly  been  in- 
augurated by  the  rulers  of  this  world. 

"We  are  not  unmindful  of  the  blessings  of  peace  and 
unity,  nor  do  We  forget  that  the  appearance  of  these 
things  has  been  the  fruit  of  much  that  we  have  condemned. 
It  is  this  appearance  of  peace  that  has  deceived  many, 
causing  them  to  doubt  the  promise  of  the  Prince  of  Peace 
that  it  Is  through  Him  alone  that  we  have  access  to  the 
Father.  That  true  peace,  passing  understanding,  concerns 
not  only  the  relations  of  men  between  themselves,  but,  su- 
premely, the  relations  of  men  with  their  Maker;  and  it  is 
in  this  necessary  point  that  the  efforts  of  the  world  are 
found  wanting.  It  Is  not  Indeed  to  be  wondered  at  that 
in  a  world  which  has  rejected  God  this  necessary  matter 


THE  ENCOUNTER  159 

should  be  forgotten.  Men  have  thought — led  astray  by 
seducers — that  the  unity  of  nations  was  the  greatest  prize 
of  this  life,  forgetting  the  words  of  our  Saviour,  Who 
said  that  He  came  to  bring  not  peace  but  a  sword,  and  that 
it  is  through  many  tribulations  that  we  enter  God's  King- 
dom. First,  then,  there  should  be  established  the  peace  of 
man  with  God,  and  after  that  the  unity  of  man  with  man 
will  follow.  Seek  ye  first,  said  Jesus  Christ,  the  kingdom 
of  God — and  then  all  these  things  shall  he  added  unto  you. 

"First,  then,  We  once  more  condemn  and  anathematise  the 
opinions  of  those  who  teach  and  believe  the  contrary  of 
this ;  and  we  renew  once  more  all  the  condemnations  uttered 
by  Ourself  or  Our  predecessors  against  all  those  societies, 
organisations  and  communities  that  have  been  formed  for 
the  furtherance  of  an  unity  on  another  than  a  divine 
foundation ;  and  We  remind  Our  children  throughout  the 
world  that  it  is  forbidden  to  them  to  enter  or  to  aid  or  to 
approve  in  any  manner  whatsoever  any  of  those  bodies 
named  in  such  condemnations." 

Percy  moved  in  his  seat,  conscious  of  a  touch  of  impa- 
tience. .  .  .  The  manner  was  superb,  tranquil  and  stately 
as  a  river ;  but  the  matter  a  trifle  banal.  Here  was  this  old 
reprobation  of  Freemasonry,  repeated  in  unoriginal  lan- 
guage. 

"Secondly,"  went  on  the  steady  voice,  "We  wish  to  make 
known  to  you  Our  desires  for  the  future ;  and  here  We  tread 
on  what  many  have  considered  dangerous  ground." 

Again  came  that  rustle.  Percy  saw  more  than  one  cardi- 
nal lean  forward  with  hand  crooked  at  ear  to  hear  the  bet- 
ter.    It  was  evident  that  something  important  was  coming. 

"There  are  many  points,"  went  on  the  high  voice,  "of 


160  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

which  it  is  not  Our  intention  to  speak  at  this  time,  for  of 
their  own  nature  they  are  secret,  and  must  be  treated  of  on 
another  occasion.  But  what  We  say  here,  We  say  to  the 
world.  Since  the  assaults  of  Our  enemies  are  both  open  and 
secret,  so  too  must  be  Our  defences.  This  then  is  Our  in- 
tention." 

The  Pope  paused  again,  lifted  one  hand  as  if  mechani- 
cally to  his  breast,  and  grasped  the  cross  that  hung  there. 

"While  the  army  of  Christ  is  one,  it  consists  of  many 
divisions,  each  of  which  has  its  proper  function  and  ob- 
ject. In  times  past  God  has  raised  up  companies  of  His 
servants  to  do  this  or  that  particular  work — the  sons  of 
St.  Francis  to  preach  poverty,  those  of  St.  Bernard  to  la- 
bour in  prayer  with  all  holy  women  dedicating  themselves 
to  this  purpose,  the  Society  of  Jesus  for  the  education  of 
youth  and  the  conversion  of  the  heathen — together  with  all 
the  other  Religious  Orders  whose  names  are  known  through- 
out the  world.  Each  such  company  was  raised  up  at  a 
particular  season  of  need,  and  each  has  corresponded  nobly 
with  the  divine  vocation.  It  has  also  been  the  especial 
glory  of  each,  for  the  furtherance  of  its  intention,  while 
pursuing  its  end,  to  cut  off  from  itself  all  such  activities 
(good  in  themselves)  which  would  hinder  that  work  for 
which  God  had  called  it  into  being — following  in  this  mat- 
ter the  words  of  our  Redeemer,  Every  branch  that  beareth 
fruit.  He  purgeth  it  that  it  may  bring  forth  more  fruit. 
At  this  present  season,  then,  it  appears  to  Our  Humility 
that  all  such  Orders  (which  once  more  We  commend  and 
bless)  are  not  perfectly  suited  by  the  very  conditions  of 
their  respective  Rules  to  perform  the  great  work  which  the 
time  requires.     Our  warfare  lies  not  with  ignorance  in  par- 


THE  ENCOUNTER  161 

ticular,  whether  of  the  heathens  to  whom  the  Gospel  has  not 
yet  come,  or  of  those  whose  fathers  have  rejected  it,  nor 
with  the  deceitful  riches  of  this  •world,  nor  with  science 
falsely  so-called,  nor  indeed  with  any  one  of  those  strong- 
holds of  infidelity  against  whom  We  have  laboured  in  the 
past.  Rather  it  appears  as  if  at  last  the  time  was  come 
of  which  the  apostle  spoke  when  he  said  that  that  day  shall 
not  come,  except  there  come  a  falling  axcay  first,  and  that 
Man  of  Sin  he  revealed,  the  Son  of  Perdition,  who  oppos- 
eth  and  exalteth  himself  above  all  that  is  called  God. 

"It  is  not  with  this  or  that  force  that  we  are  concerned, 
but  rather  with  the  unveiled  immensity  of  that  power  whose 
time  was  foretold,  and  whose  destruction  is  prepared." 

The  voice  paused  again,  and  Percy  gripped  the  rail  be- 
fore him  to  stay  the  trembling  of  his  hands.  There  was 
no  rustle  now,  nothing  but  a  silence  that  tingled  and 
shook.  The  Pope  drew  a  long  breath,  turned  his  head 
slowly  to  right  and  left,  and  went  on  more  dehberately 
than  ever. 

"It  seems  good,  then,  to  Our  Humility,  that  the  Vicar 
of  Christ  should  himself  invite  God's  children  to  this  new 
warfare ;  and  it  is  Our  intention  to  enroll  under  the  title 
of  the  Order  of  Christ  Crucified  the  names  of  all  who 
offer  themselves  to  this  supreme  service.  In  doing  this  We 
are  aware  of  the  novelty  of  Our  action,  and  the  disregard 
of  all  such  precautions  as  have  been  necessary  in  the  past. 
We  take  counsel  in  this  matter  with  none  save  Him  Who 
we  believe  has  inspired  it. 

"First,  then,  let  Us  say,  that  although  obedient  service 
will  be  required  from  all  who  shall  be  admitted  to  this  Or- 
der, Our  primary  intention  in  instituting  it  lies  in  God's 


162  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

regard  rather  than  in  man's,  in  appealing  to  Him  Who 
asks  our  generosity  rather  than  to  those  who  deny  it,  and 
dedicating  once  more  by  a  formal  and  deliberate  act  our 
souls  and  bodies  to  the  heavenly  Will  and  service  of  Him 
Who  alone  can  rightly  claim  such  offering,  and  will  ac- 
cept our  poverty. 

"Briefly,  we  dictate  only  the  following  conditions. 

"None  shall  be  capable  of  entering  the  Order  except  such 
as  shall  be  above  the  age  of  seventeen  years. 

"No  badge,  habit,  nor  insignia  shall  be  attached  to  it. 

"The  Three  Evangelical  Counsels  shall  be  the  founda- 
tion of  the  Rule,  to  which  we  add  a  fourth  intention, 
namely,  that  of  a  desire  to  receive  the  crown  of  martyrdom 
and  a  purpose  of  embracing  it. 

"The  bishop  of  every  diocese,  if  he  himself  shall  enter  the 
Order,  shall  be  the  superior  within  the  limits  of  his  own 
jurisdiction,  and  alone  shall  be  exempt  from  the  literal  ob- 
servance of  the  Vow  of  Poverty  so  long  as  he  retains  his 
see.  Such  bishops  as  do  not  feel  the  vocation  to  the  Order 
shall  retain  their  sees  under  the  usual  conditions,  but  shall 
have  no  Religious  claim  on  the  members  of  the  Order. 

"Further,  We  announce  Our  intention  of  Ourself  entering 
the  Order  as  its  supreme  prelate,  and  of  making  Our  pro- 
fession within  the  course  of  a  few  days. 

"Further,  We  declare  that  in  Our  Own  pontificate  none 
shall  be  elevated  to  the  Sacred  College  save  those  who  have 
made  their  profession  in  the  Order;  and  We  shall  dedicate 
shortly  the  Basilica  of  St.  Peter  and  St.  Paul  as  the  central 
church  of  the  Order,  in  which  church  We  shall  raise  to  the 
altars  without  any  delay  those  happy  souls  who  shall  lay 
down  their  lives  in  the  pursuance  of  their  vocation. 


THE  ENCOUNTER  163 

"Of  that  vocation  it  is  unnecessary  to  speak  beyond  indi- 
cating that  it  may  be  pursued  under  any  conditions  laid 
down  by  the  Superiors.  As  regards  the  novitiate,  its  condi- 
tions and  requirements,  we  shall  shortly  issue  the  neces- 
sary directions.  Each  diocesan  superior  (for  it  is  Our 
hope  that  none  will  hold  back)  shall  have  all  such  rights 
as  usually  appertain  to  Religious  Superiors,  and  shall  be 
empowered  to  employ  his  subjects  in  any  work  that,  in  his 
opinion,  shall  subserve  the  glory  of  God  and  the  salvation 
of  souls.  It  is  Our  Own  intention  to  employ  in  Our  service 
none  except  those  who  shall  make  their  profession." 

He  raised  his  eyes  once  more,  seemingly  without  emotion, 
then  he  continued: 

"So  far,  then.  We  have  determined.  On  other  matters  We 
shall  take  counsel  immediately ;  but  it  is  Our  wish  that  these 
words  shall  be  communicated  to  all  the  world,  that  there 
may  be  no  delay  in  making  known  what  it  is  that  Christ 
through  His  Vicar  asks  of  all  who  profess  the  Divine  Name. 
We  offer  no  rewards  except  those  which  God  Himself  has 
promised  to  those  that  love  Him,  and  lay  down  their  life 
for  Him ;  no  promise  of  peace,  save  of  that  which  passeth 
understanding ;  no  home  save  that  which  befits  pilgrims  and 
sojourners  who  seek  a  City  to  come;  no  honour  save  the 
world's  contempt ;  no  life,  save  that  which  is  hid  with  Christ 
in  God." 


CHAPTER  IV 


Oliver  Brand,  seated  in  his  little  private  room  at  White- 
hall, was  expecting  a  visitor.  It  was  already  close  upon 
ten  o'clock,  and  at  half -past  he  must  be  in  the  House.  He 
had  hoped  that  Mr.  Francis,  whoever  he  might  be,  would 
not  detain  him  long.  Even  now,  every  moment  was  a 
respite,  for  the  work  had  become  simply  prodigious  during 
the  last  weeks. 

But  he  was  not  reprieved  for  more  than  a  minute,  for  the 
last  boom  from  the  Victoria  Tower  had  scarcely  ceased  to 
throb  when  the  door  opened  and  a  clerkly  voice  uttered  the 
name  he  was  expecting. 

Oliver  shot  one  quick  look  at  the  stranger,  at  his  droop- 
ing lids  and  down-turned  mouth,  summed  him  up  fairly 
and  accurately  in  the  moments  during  which  they  seated 
themselves,  and  went  briskly  to  business. 

"At  twenty-five  minutes  past,  sir,  I  must  leave  this  room," 
he  said.     "Until  then — "  he  made  a  little  gesture. 

Mr.  Francis  reassured  him. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Brand — that  is  ample  time.  Then,  if 
you  will  excuse  me — "  He  groped  in  his  breast-pocket, 
and  drew  out  a  long  envelope. 

"I  will  leave  this  with  you,"  he  said,  "when  I  go.  It  sets 
out  our  desires  at  length  and  our  names.  And  this  is  what  I 
have  to  say,  sir." 


THE  ENCOUNTER  165 

He  sat  back,  crossed  his  legs,  and  went  on,  with  a  touch 
of  eagerness  in  his  voice. 

"I  am  a  kind  of  deputation,  as  you  know,"  he  said.  "We 
have  something  both  to  ask  and  to  offer.  I  am  chosen  be- 
cause it  was  my  own  idea.    First,  may  I  ask  a  question.'"' 

OHver  bowed. 

"I  wish  to  ask  nothing  that  I  ought  not.  But  I  beheve 
it  is  practically  certain,  is  it  not? — that  Divine  Worship 
is  to  be  restored  throughout  the  kingdom?" 

Oliver  smiled. 

"I  suppose  so,"  he  said.  "The  bill  has  been  read  for  the 
third  time,  and,  as  you  know,  the  President  is  to  speak 
upon  it  this  evening." 

"He  will  not  veto  it?" 

"We  suppose  not.  He  has  assented  to  it  in  Germany." 

"Just  so,"  said  Mr.  Francis.  "And  if  he  assents  here,  I 
suppose  it  will  become  law  immediately." 

OHver  leaned  over  this  table,  and  drew  out  the  green 
paper  that  contained  the  Bill. 

"You  have  this,  of  course — "  he  said.  "Well,  it  becomes 
law  at  once ;  and  the  first  feast  will  be  observed  on  the  first 
of  October.     'Paternity,'  is  it  not?     Yes,  Paternity." 

"There  will  be  something  of  a  rush  then,"  said  the  other 
eagerly.     "Why,  that  is  only  a  week  hence." 

"I  have  not  charge  of  this  department,"  said  Oliver,  lay- 
ing back  the  Bill.  "But  I  understand  that  the  ritual  will 
be  that  alread}'  in  use  in  Germany.  There  is  no  reason  why 
we  should  be  peculiar." 

"And  the  Abbey  will  be  used?" 

"Why,  yes." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  ^Ir.  Francis,  "of  course  I  know  the  Gov- 


166  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

emment  Commission  has  studied  it  all  very  closely,  and  no 
doubt  has  its  own  plans.  But  it  appears  to  me  that  th^y 
will  want  all  the  experience  they  can  get." 

"No  doubt." 

"Well,  Mr.  Brand,  the  society  which  I  represent  consists 
entirely  of  men  who  were  once  Catholic  priests.  We  num- 
ber about  two  hundred  in  London.  I  will  leave  a  pamphlet 
with  you,  if  I  may,  stating  our  objects,  our  constitution, 
and  so  on.  It  seemed  to  us  that  here  was  a  matter  in  which 
our  past  experience  might  be  of  service  to  the  Govern- 
ment. Catholic  ceremonies,  as  you  know,  are  very  intricate, 
and  some  of  us  studied  them  very  deeply  in  old  days.  We 
used  to  say  that  Masters  of  Ceremonies  were  born,  not 
made,  and  we  have  a  fair  number  of  those  amongst  us.  But 
indeed  every  priest  is  something  of  a  ceremonialist." 

He  paused. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Francis.?" 

"I  am  sure  the  Government  realises  the  immense  im- 
portance of  all  going  smoothly.  If  Divine  Service  was  at 
all  grotesque  or  disorderly,  it  would  largely  defeat  its  own 
object.  So  I  have  been  deputed  to  see  you,  Mr.  Brand,  and 
to  suggest  to  you  that  here  is  a  body  of  men — reckon  it  as 
at  least  twenty-five — who  have  had  special  experience  in 
this  kind  of  thing,  and  are  perfectly  ready  to  put  them- 
selves at  the  disposal  of  the  Government." 

Oliver  could  not  resist  a  faint  flicker  of  a  smile  at  the 
comer  of  his  mouth.  It  was  a  very  grim  bit  of  irony,  he 
thought,  but  it  seemed  sensible  enough. 

"I  quite  understand,  Mr.  Francis.  It  seems  a  very  reason- 
able suggestion.  But  I  do  not  think  I  am  the  proper  per- 
son.    Mr.  Snowford — " 


THE  ENCOUNTER  16T 

"Yes,  yes,  sir,  I  know.  But  your  speech  the  other  day  in- 
spired us  all.  You  said  exactly  what  was  in  all  our  hearts — 
that  the  world  could  not  live  without  worship ;  and  that 

now  that  God  was  found  at  last " 

Oliver  waved  his  hand.    He  hated  even  a  touch  of  flattery. 

"It  is  very  good  of  you,  Mr.  Francis.  I  will  certainly 
speak  to  Mr.  Snowford.  I  understand  that  you  offer  your- 
selves as — as  Masters  of  Ceremonies .f"' 

"Yes,  sir;  and  sacristans.  I  have  studied  the  German 
ritual  very  carefully ;  it  is  more  elaborate  than  I  had 
thought  it.  It  will  need  a  good  deal  of  adroitness.  I  imag- 
ine that  you  will  want  at  least  a  dozen  Ceremoniarii  in  the 
Abbey ;  and  a  dozen  more  in  the  vestries  will  scarcely  be  too 
much." 

Oliver  nodded  abruptly,  looking  curiously  at  the  eager 
pathetic  face  of  the  man  opposite  him ;  yet  it  had  some- 
thing, too,  of  that  mask-like  priestly  look  that  he  had  seen 
before  in  others  like  him.     This  was  evidently  a  devotee. 

"You  are  all  Masons,  of  course.?'*  he  said. 

"Why,  of  course,  Mr.  Brand." 

"Very  good.  I  will  speak  to  Mr.  Snowford  to-day  if  I 
can  catch  him." 

He  glanced  at  the  clock.  There  were  yet  three  or  four 
minutes. 

"You  have  seen  the  new  appointment  in  Rome,  sir,"  went 
on  Mr.  Francis. 

Oliver  shook  his  head.  He  was  not  particularly  interested 
in  Rome  just  now. 

"Cardinal  Martin  is  deed — he  died  on  Tuesday — and  his 
place  is  already  filled." 

"Indeed,  sir.?" 


168  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"Yes — the  new  man  was  once  a  friend  of  mine — Franklin, 
his  name  is — Percy  Frankhn." 

"Eh?" 

"What  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Brand?     Did  you  know  him?" 

Ohver  was  eyeing  him  darkly,  a  little  pale. 

"Yes ;  I  knew  him,"  he  said  quietly.  "At  least,  I  think 
so." 

"He  was  at  Westminster  until  a  month  or  two  ago." 

"Yes,  yes,"  said  Oliver,  still  looking  at  him.  "And  you 
knew  him,  Mr.  Francis?" 

"I  knew  him — yes." 

"Ah ! — well,  I  should  like  to  have  a  talk  some  day  about 
him." 

He  broke  off.     It  yet  wanted  a  minute  to  his  time. 

"And  that  is  all?"  he  asked. 

"That  is  all  my  actual  business,  sir,"  answered  the  other. 
"But  I  hope  you  will  allow  me  to  say  how  much  we  all 
appreciate  what  you  have  done,  ]\Ir.  Brand.  I  do  not  think 
it  is  possible  for  any,  except  ourselves,  to  understand  what 
the  loss  of  worship  means  to  us.  It  was  very  strange  at 
first " 

His  voice  trembled  a  little,  and  he  stopped.  Oliver  felt 
interested,  and  checked  himself  in  his  movement  to  rise. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Francis.?" 

The  melancholy  brown  eyes  turned  on  him  full. 

"It  was  an  illusion,  of  course,  sir — we  know  that.  But  I, 
at  any  rate,  dare  to  hope  that  it  was  not  all  wasted — all  our 
aspirations  and  penitence  and  praise.  We  mistook  our 
God,  but  none  the  less  it  reached  Him — it  found  its  way 
to  the  Spirit  of  the  World.  It  taught  us  that  the  individual 
was  nothing,  and  that  He  was  all.     And  now " 


THE  ENCOUNTER  169 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  other  softly.     Ke  was  really  touched. 

The  sad  brown  eyes  opened  full. 

"And  now  Mr.  Felsenburgh  is  come."  He  swallowed  in 
his  throat.  "Julian  Felsenburgh !"  There  was  a  world 
of  sudden  passion  in  his  gentle  voice,  and  Oliver's  own 
heart  responded. 

"I  know,  sir,"  he  said;  "I  know  all  that  you  mean." 

"Oh !  to  have  a  Saviour  at  last !"  cried  Francis.  "One 
that  can  be  seen  and  handled  and  praised  to  His  Face !  It 
is  like  a  dream — too  good  to  be  true!" 

Oliver  glanced  at  the  clock,  and  rose  abruptly,  holding  out 
his  hand. 

"Forgive  me,  sir.  I  must  not  sta}'.  You  have  touched 
me  very  deeply.  ...  I  w^ill  speak  to  Snowford.  Your 
address  is  here,  I  understand.''" 

He  pointed  to  the  papers. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Brand.     There  is  one  more  question." 

"I  must  not  sta}',  sir,"  said  Oliver,  shaking  his  head. 

"One  instant — is  it  true  that  this  worship  will  be  com- 
pulsory .''" 

Oliver  bowed  as  he  gathered  up  his  papers. 


II 


Mabel,  seated  in  the  gallery  that  evening  behind  the 
President's  chair,  had  already  glanced  at  her  watch  half- 
a-dozen  times  in  the  last  hour,  hoping  each  time  that 
twenty-one  o'clock  was  nearer  than  she  feared.  She  knew 
well  enough  by  now  that  the  President  of  Europe  would 
not    be    half-a-minute    either    before    or    after    his    time. 


170  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

His  supreme  punctuality  was  famous  all  over  the  conti- 
nent. He  had  said  Twenty-One,  so  it  was  to  be  twenty- 
one. 

A  sharp  bell-note  impinged  from  beneath,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment the  drawling  voice  of  the  speaker  stopped.  Once  more 
she  lifted  her  wrist,  saw  that  it  wanted  five  minutes  of  the 
hour;  then  she  leaned  forward  from  her  corner  and  stared 
down  into  the  House. 

A  great  change  had  passed  over  it  at  the  metallic  noise.  All 
down  the  long  brown  seats  members  were  shifting  and  ar- 
ranging themselves  more  decorously,  uncrossing  their  legs, 
slipping  their  hats  beneath  the  leather  fringes.  As  she 
looked,  too,  she  saw  the  President  of  the  House  coming 
down  the  three  steps  from  his  chair,  for  Another  would 
need  it  in  a  few  moments. 

The  house  was  full  from  end  to  end;  a  late  comer  ran 
in  from  the  twilight  of  the  south  door  and  looked  dis- 
tractedly about  him  in  the  full  light  before  he  saw  his  va- 
cant place.  The  galleries  at  the  lower  end  were  occupied 
too,  down  there,  where  she  had  failed  to  obtain  a  seat.  Yet 
from  all  the  crowded  interior  there  was  no  sound  but  a  sibi- 
lant whispering;  from  the  passages  behind  she  could  hear 
again  the  quick  bell-note  repeat  itself  as  the  lobbies  were 
cleared ;  and  from  Parliament  Square  outside  once  more 
came  the  heavy  murmur  of  the  crowd  that  had  been  in- 
audible for  the  last  twenty  minutes.  When  that  ceased 
she  would  know  that  he  was  come. 

How  strange  and  wonderful  it  was  to  be  here — on  this 
night  of  all,  when  the  President  was  to  speak !  A  month 
ago  he  had  assented  to  a  similar  Bill  in  Germany,  and  had 
delivered  a  speech  on   the  same  subject  at  Turin.     To- 


THE  ENCOUNTER  171 

morrow  he  was  to  be  in  Spain.  No  one  knew  where  he  had 
been  during  the  past  week.  A  rumour  had  spread  that 
his  volor  had  been  seen  passing  over  Lake  Como,  and  had 
been  instantly  contradicted.  No  one  knew  either  what 
he  would  say  to-night.  It  might  be  three  words  or  twenty 
thousand.  There  were  a  few  clauses  in  the  Bill — notably 
those  bearing  on  the  point  as  to  when  the  new  worship 
was  to  be  made  compulsory  on  all  subjects  over  the  age 
of  seven — it  might  be  he  would  object  and  veto  these.  In 
that  case  all  must  be  done  again,  and  the  Bill  re-passed, 
unless  the  House  accepted  his  amendment  instantly  by  ac- 
clamation. 

Mabel  herself  was  inclined  to  these  clauses.  They  pro- 
vided that,  although  worship  was  to  be  offered  in  every 
parish  church  of  England  on  the  ensuing  first  day  of 
October,  this  was  not  to  be  compulsory  on  all  subjects  till 
the  New  Year ;  whereas,  Germany,  who  had  passed  the  Bill 
only  a  month  before,  had  caused  it  to  come  into  full  force 
immediately,  thus  compelling  all  her  Catholic  subjects 
either  to  leave  the  country  without  delay  or  suffer  the 
penalties.  These  penalties  were  not  vindictive:  on  a  first 
offence  a  week's  detention  only  was  to  be  given ;  on  the 
second,  one  month's  imprisonment ;  on  the  third,  one  year's ; 
and  on  the  fourth,  perpetual  imprisonment  until  the  crimi- 
nal yielded.  These  were  merciful  terms,  it  seemed ;  for  even 
imprisonment  itself  meant  no  more  than  reasonable  con- 
finement and  employment  on  Government  works.  There 
were  no  mediaeval  horrors  here ;  and  the  act  of  worship  de- 
manded was  so  little,  too ;  it  consisted  of  no  more  than 
bodily  presence  in  the  church  or  cathedral  on  the  four  new 
festivals   of  IVIaternity,    Life,   Sustenance   and   Paternity, 


172  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

celebrated  on  the  first  day  of  each  quarter.  Sunday  wor- 
ship was  to  be  purely  voluntary. 

She  could  not  understand  how  any  man  could  refuse 
this  homage.  These  four  things  were  facts — they  were 
the  manifestations  of  what  she  called  the  Spirit  of  the 
World— and  if  others  called  that  Power  God,  yet  surely 
these  ought  to  be  considered  as  His  functions.  Where  then 
was  the  difficulty  .f'  It  was  not  as  if  Christian  worship  were 
not  permitted,  under  the  usual  regulations.  Catholics 
could  still  go  to  mass.  And  yet  appalling  things  were 
threatened  in  Germany :  not  less  than  twelve  thousand  per- 
sons had  already  left  for  Rome ;  and  it  was  rumoured  that 
forty  thousand  would  refuse  this  simple  act  of  homage  a 
few  days  hence.  It  bewildered  and  angered  her  to  think 
of  it. 

For  herself  the  new  worship  was  a  crowning  sign  of  the 
triumph  of  Humanity.  Her  heart  had  yearned  for  some 
such  thing  as  this — some  public  corporate  profession  of 
what  all  now  believed.  She  had  so  resented  the  dulness  of 
folk  who  were  content  with  action  and  never  considered  its 
springs.  Surely  this  instinct  within  her  was  a  true  one ;  she 
desired  to  stand  with  her  fellows  in  some  solemn  place,  con- 
secrated not  by  priests  but  by  the  will  of  man ;  to  have  as 
her  inspirers  sweet  singing  and  the  peal  of  organs ;  to  utter 
her  sorrow  with  thousands  beside  her  at  her  own  feebleness 
of  immolation  before  the  Spirit  of  all ;  to  sing  aloud  her 
praise  of  the  glory  of  life,  and  to  offer  by  sacrifice  and 
incense  an  emblematic  homage  to  That  from  which  she  drew 
her  being,  and  to  whom  one  day  she  must  render  it  again. 
Ah !  these  Christians  had  understood  human  nature,  she  had 
told  herself  a  hundred  times :  it  was  true  that  they  had  de- 


THE  ENCOUNTER  173 

graded  it,  darkened  light,  poisoned  thought,  misinterpreted 
instinct ;  but  they  had  understood  that  man  must  worship 
— must  worship  or  sink. 

For  herself  she  intended  to  go  at  least  once  a  week  to  the 
little  old  church  half-a-mile  away  from  her  home,  to  kneel 
there  before  the  sunlit  sanctuary,  to  meditate  on  sweet  mys- 
teries, to  present  herself  to  That  \\hich  she  was  yearning  to 
love,  and  to  drink,  it  might  be,  new  draughts  of  life  and 
power. 

Ah!  but  the  Bill  must  pass  first.  .  .  .  She  clenched  her 
hands  on  the  rail,  and  stared  steadily  before  her  on  the 
ranks  of  heads,  the  open  gangways,  the  great  mace  on  the 
table,  and  heard,  above  the  murmur  of  the  crowd  outside 
and  the  dying  whispers  within,  her  own  heart  beat. 

She  could  not  see  Him,  she  knew.  He  would  come  in 
from  beneath  through  the  door  that  none  but  He  might 
use,  straight  into  the  seat  beneath  the  canopy.  But  she 
would  hear  His  voice — that  must  be  joy  enough  for 
her.   .    .    . 

Ah !  there  was  silence  now  outside ;  the  soft  roar  had  died. 
He  had  come  then.  And  through  swimming  eyes  she  saw 
the  long  ridges  of  heads  rise  beneath  her,  and  through 
drumming  ears  heard  the  murmur  of  many  feet.  All  faces 
looked  this  way ;  and  she  watched  them  as  a  mirror  to  see 
the  reflected  light  of  His  presence.  There  was  a  gentle 
sobbing  somewhere  in  the  air — was  it  her  own  or  another's.'' 
.  .  .  the  click  of  a  door;  a  great  mellow  booming  over- 
head, shock  after  shock,  as  the  huge  tenor  bells  tolled  their 
three  strokes ;  and,  in  an  instant,  over  the  white  faces 
passed  a  ripple,  as  if  some  breeze  of  passion  shook  the 
souls  within ;  there  was  a  swaying  here  and  there ;  and  a 


174  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

passionless  voice  spoke  half  a  dozen  words  in  Esperanto, 
out  of  sight: 
"Englishmen,  I  assent  to  the  Bill  of  Worship." 


Ill 


It  was  not  until  mid-day  breakfast  on  the  following  morn- 
ing that  husband  and  wife  met  again.  Oliver  had  slept  in 
town  and  telephoned  about  eleven  o'clock  that  he  would  be 
home  immediately,  bringing  a  guest  with  him :  and  shortly 
before  noon  she  heard  their  voices  in  the  hall. 

Mr.  Francis,  who  was  presently  introduced  to  her,  seemed 
a  harmless  kind  of  man,  she  thought,  not  interesting, 
though  he  seemed  in  earnest  about  this  Bill.  It  was  not 
until  breakfast  was  nearly  over  that  she  understood  who 
he  was. 

"Don't  go,  Mabel,"  said  her  husband,  as  she  made 
a  movement  to  rise.  "You  will  like  to  hear  about  this,  I 
expect.     My  wife  knows  all  that  I  know,"  he  added. 

Mr.  Francis  smiled  and  bowed. 

"I  may  tell  her  about  you,  sir?"  said  Oliver  again. 

"Why,  certainly." 

Then  she  heard  that  he  had  been  a  Catholic  priest  a  few 
months  before,  and  that  Mr.  Snowford  was  in  consultation 
with  him  as  to  the  ceremonies  in  the  Abbey.  She  was  con- 
scious of  a  sudden  interest  as  she  heard  this. 

"Oh !  do  talk,"  she  said.     "I  want  to  hear  cver^'thing." 

It  seemed  that  Mr.  Francis  had  seen  t!ie  new  INIinister  of 
Public  Worship  that  morning,  and  had  received  a  definite 
commission  from  him  to  take  charge  of  the  ceremonies  on 


THE  ENCOUNTER  176 

the  first  of  October.  Two  dozen  of  his  colleagues,  too,  were 
to  be  enrolled  among  the  ceremoniari'i,  at  least  temporarily 
— and  after  the  event  they  were  to  be  sent  on  a  lecturing 
tour  to  organise  the  national  worship  throughout  the 
country. 

Of  course  things  would  be  somewhat  sloppy  at  first,  said 
Mr.  Francis ;  but  by  the  New  Year  it  was  hoped  that  all 
would  be  in  order,  at  least  in  the  cathedrals  and  principal 
towns. 

"It  is  important,"  he  said,  "that  this  should  be  done  as 
soon  as  possible.  It  is  very  necessary  to  make  a  good  im- 
pression. There  are  thousands  who  have  the  instinct  of 
worship,  without  knowing  how  to  satisfy  it." 

"That  is  perfectly  true,"  said  Oliver.  "I  have  felt  that 
for  a  long  time.  I  suppose  it  is  the  deepest  instinct  in 
man." 

"As  to  the  ceremonies — "  went  on  the  other,  with  a 
slightly  important  air.  His  eyes  roved  round  a  moment ; 
then  he  dived  into  his  breast-pocket,  and  drew  out  a  thin 
red-covered  book. 

"Here  is  the  Order  of  Worship  for  the  Feast  of  Pa- 
ternity," he  said.  "I  have  had  it  interleaved,  and  have  made 
a  few  notes." 

He  began  to  turn  the  pages,  and  Mabel,  with  considerable 
excitement,  drew  her  chair  a  little  closer  to  listen. 

"That  is  right,  sir,"  said  the  other.  "Now  give  us  a  little 
lecture." 

Mr.  Francis  closed  the  book  on  his  finger,  pushed  his  plate 
aside,  and  began  to  discourse. 

"First,"  he  said,  "we  must  remember  that  this  ritual  is 
based  almost  entirely  upon  that  of  the  Masons.     Three- 


176  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

quarters  at  least  of  the  entire  function  will  be  occupied 
by  that.  With  that  the  ceremoniarii  will  not  interfere,  be- 
yond seeing  that  the  insignia  are  ready  in  the  vestries  and 
properly  put  on.  The  proper  officials  will  conduct  the  rest. 
...  I  need  not  speak  of  that  then.  The  difficulties  begin 
with  the  last  quarter." 

He  paused,  and  with  a  glance  of  apology  began  arrang- 
ing forks  and  glasses  before  him  on  the  cloth. 

"Now  here,"  he  said,  "we  have  the  old  sanctuary  of  the 
abbe}^  In  the  place  of  the  rercdos  and  Communion  table 
there  Avill  be  erected  the  large  altar  of  which  the  ritual 
speaks,  with  the  steps  leading  up  to  it  from  the  floor.  Be- 
hind the  altar — extending  almost  to  the  old  shrine  of  the 
Confessor — will  stand  the  pedestal  with  the  emblematic  fig- 
ure upon  it ;  and — so  far  as  I  understand  from  the  absence 
of  directions — each  such  figure  will  remain  in  place  until 
the  eve  of  the  next  quarterly  feast." 

"What  kind  of  figure?"  put  in  the  girl. 

Francis  glanced  at  her  husband. 

"I  understand  that  Mr.  Markenheim  has  been  consulted," 
he  said.  "He  will  design  and  execute  them.  Each  is  to 
represent  its  own  feast.     This  for  Paternity " 

He  paused  again. 

"Yes,  Mr.  Francis.?" 

"This  one,  I  understand,  is  to  be  the  naked  figure  of  a 
man." 

"A  kind  of  Apollo — or  Jupiter,  my  dear,"  put  in 
Oliver. 

Yes — that  seemed  all  right,  thought  Mabel.  Mr.  Fran- 
cis's voice  moved  on  hastily. 

"A  new  procession   enters  at  this   point,   after  the  dis- 


THE  ENCOUNTER  177 

course,"  he  said.    "It  is  this  that  will  need  special  marshall- 
ing.    I  suppose  no  rehearsal  will  be  possible.''" 

"Scarcely,"  said  Oliver,  smiling. 

The  Master  of  Ceremonies  sighed. 

"I  feared  not.  Then  we  must  issue  very  precise  printed 
instructions.  Those  who  take  part  will  withdraw,  I  imag- 
ine, during  the  hymn,  to  the  old  chapel  of  St.  Faith.  That 
is  what  seems  to  me  the  best." 

He  indicated  the  chapel. 

"After  the  entrance  of  the  procession  all  will  take  their 
places  on  these  two  sides — here — and  here — while  the  cele- 
brant with  the  sacred  ministers " 

"Eh.?" 

Mr.  Francis  permitted  a  slight  grimace  to  appear  on  his 
face ;  he  flushed  a  little. 

"The  President  of  Europe "     He  broke  off.     "Ah! 

that  is  the  point.     Will  the  President  take  part?     That  is 

not  made  clear  in  the  ritual." 

.  "We  think  so,"  said  Oliver.     "He  is  to  be  approached." 

"Well,  if  not,  I  suppose  the  Minister  of  Public  Worship 
will  officiate.  He  with  his  supporters  pass  straight  up  to 
the  foot  of  the  altar.  Remember  that  the  figure  is  still 
veiled,  and  that  the  candles  have  been  lighted  during  the 
approach  of  the  procession.  There  follow  the  Aspirations 
printed  in  the  ritual  with  the  responds.  These  are  sung 
by  the  choir,  and  will  be  most  impressive,  I  think.  Then  the 
officiant  ascends  the  altar  alone,  and,  standing,  declaims 
the  Address,  as  it  is  called.  At  the  close  of  it — at  the  point, 
that  is  to  say,  marked  here  with  a  star,  the  thurifers  will 
leave  the  chapel,  four  in  number.  One  ascends  the  altar, 
leaving  the  others  swinging  their  thuribles  at  its  foot — 


178  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

hands  his  to  the  officiant  and  retires.  Upon  the  sounding 
of  a  bell  the  curtains  are  drawn  back,  the  officiant  censes 
the  image  in  silence  with  four  double  swings,  and,  as  he 
ceases  the  choir  sings  the  appointed  antiphon." 

He  waved  his  hands. 

"The  rest  is  easy,"  he  said.     "We  need  not  discuss  that." 

To  Mabel's  mind  even  the  previous  ceremonies  seemed  easy 
enough.     But  she  was  undeceived. 

"You  have  no  idea,  Mrs.  Brand,"  went  on  the  cere- 
moniarius,  "of  the  difficulties  involved  even  in  such  a  simple 
matter  as  this.  The  stupidity  of  people  is  prodigious.  I 
foresee  a  great  deal  of  hard  work  for  us  all.  .  .  .  Who  is 
to  deliver  the  discourse,  Mr.  Brand.''" 

Oliver  shook  his  head. 

"I  have  no  idea,"  he  said.  "I  suppose  Mr.  Snowford  will 
select." 

Mr.  Francis  looked  at  him  doubtfully. 

"What  is  your  opinion  of  the  whole  affair,  sir?"  he  said. 

Oliver  paused  a  moment. 

"I  think  it  is  necessary,"  he  began.  "There  would  not  be 
such  a  cry  for  worship  if  it  was  not  a  real  need.  I  think 
too — yes,  I  think  that  on  the  whole  the  ritual  is  impressive. 
I  do  not  see  how  it  could  be  bettered.  ..." 

"Yes,  Oliver.?"  put  in  his  wife,  questioningly. 

"No — there  is  nothing — except  .  .  .  except  I  hope  the 
people  will  understand  it." 

Mr.  Francis  broke  in : 

"My  dear  sir,  worship  involves  a  touch  of  mystery.  You 
must  remember  that.  It  was  the  lack  of  that  that  made 
Empire  Day  fail  in  the  last  century.  For  myself,  I  think 
it  is  admirable.    Of  course  much  must  depend  on  the  man- 


THE  ENCOUNTER  179 

ner  in  which  it  is  presented.  I  see  many  details  at  present 
undecided — the  colour  of  the  curtains,  and  so  forth.  But 
the  main  plan  is  magnificent.  It  is  simple,  impressive,  and, 
above  all,  it  is  unmistakable  in  its  main  lesson " 

"And  that  you  take  to  be .?" 

"I  take  it  that  it  is  homage  offered  to  Life,"  said  the 
other  slowly.  "Life  under  four  aspects — Maternity  corre- 
sponds to  Christmas  and  the  Christian  fable ;  it  is  the  feast 
of  home,  love,  faithfulness.  Life  itself  is  approached  in 
spring,  teeming,  young,  passionate.  Sustenance  in  mid- 
summer, abundance,  comfort,  plenty,  and  the  rest,  corre- 
sponding somewhat  to  the  Catholic  Corpus  Christi;  and 
Paternity,  the  protective,  generative,  masterful  idea,  as 
winter  draws  on.  ...  I  understand  it  was  a  German 
thought." 

Oliver  nodded. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "And  I  suppose  it  will  be  the  business 
of  the  speaker  to  explain  all  this." 

"I  take  it  so.  It  appears  to  me  far  more  suggestive  than 
the  alternative  plan  —  Citizenship,  Labour,  and  so  forth. 
These,  after  all,  are  subordinate  to  Life." 

Mr.  Francis  spoke  with  an  extraordinary  suppressed 
enthusiasm,  and  the  priestly  look  was  more  evident 
than  ever.  It  was  plain  that  his  heart  at  least  demanded 
worship. 

Mabel  clasped  her  hands  suddenly. 

"I  think  it  is  beautiful,"  she  said  softly,  "and — and  it 
is  so  real." 

Mr.  Francis  turned  on  her  with  a  glow  in  his  brown  eyes. 

"Ah!  yes,  madam.  That  is  it.  There  is  no  Faith,  as 
we  used  to  call  it :  it  is  the  vision  of  Facts  that  no  one  can 


180  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

doubt;  and  the  incense  declares  the  sole  divinity'  of  Life 
as  well  as  its  mystery." 

"What  of  the  figures  ?"  put  in  Oliver. 

"A  stone  image  is  impossible,  of  course.  It  must  be  clay 
for  the  present.  Mr.  Markenheim  is  to  set  to  work  im- 
mediately. If  the  figures  are  approved  they  can  then  be  exe- 
cuted in  marble." 

Again  Mabel  spoke  with  a  soft  gravit3\ 

"It  seems  to  me,"  she  said,  "that  this  is  the  last  thing  that 
we  needed.  It  is  so  hard  to  keep  our  principles  clear — 
we  must  have  a  body  for  them — some  kind  of  expres- 
sion  " 

She  paused. 

"Yes,  Mabel.?" 

"I  do  not  mean,"  she  went  on,  "that  some  cannot  live  with- 
out it,  but  many  cannot.  The  unimaginative  need  con- 
crete images.  There  must  be  some  channel  for  their 
aspirations  to  flow  through —  Ah!  I  cannot  express 
myself !" 

Oliver  nodded  slowly.  He,  too,  seemed  to  be  in  a  medita- 
tive mood. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "And  this,  I  suppose,  will  mould  men's 
thoughts  too :  it  will  keep  out  all  danger  of  superstition." 

Mr.  Francis  turned  on  him  abruptly. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  Pope's  new  Religious  Order, 
sir.?" 

Oliver's  face  took  on  it  a  tinge  of  grimness. 

"I  think  it  is  the  worst  step  he  ever  took — for  himself,  I 
mean.  Either  it  is  a  real  effort,  in  which  case  it  will  pro- 
voke immense  indignation — or  it  is  a  sham,  and  will  dis- 
credit him.    Why  do  you  ask.?" 


THE  ENCOUNTER  181 

"I  was  wondering  whether  any  disturbance  will  be  made 
in  the  abbey." 

"I  should  be  sorry  for  the  brawler." 

A  bell  rang  sharply  from  the  row  of  telephone  labels. 
Oliver  rose  and  went  to  it.  Mabel  watched  him  as  he 
touched  a  button — mentioned  his  name,  and  put  his  ear  to 
the  opening. 

"It  is  Snowford's  secretary,"  he  said  abruptly  to  the  two 
expectant  faces.     "Snowf ord  wants  to — ah !" 

Again  he  mentioned  his  name  and  listened.  They  heard 
a  sentence  or  two  from  him  that  seemed  significant. 

"Ah!  that  is  certain,  is  it.?  I  am  sorry.  .  .  .  Yes.  .  .  . 
Oh !  but  that  is  better  than  nothing.  .  .  .  Yes ;  he  is 
here.  .  .  .  Indeed.  Very  well;  we  will  be  with  you  di- 
rectly." 

He  looked  on  the  tube,  touched  the  button  again,  and 
came  back  to  them. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said.  "The  President  will  take  no  part 
at  the  Feast.  But  it  is  uncertain  whether  he  will  not  be  pres- 
ent. Mr.  Snowford  wants  to  see  us  both  at  once,  INIr. 
Francis.     Markenheim  is  with  him." 

But  though  Mabel  was  herself  disappointed,  she  thought 
he  looked  graver  than  the  disappointment  warranted. 


CHAPTER  V 


Percy  Franklin,  the  new  Cardinal-Protector  of  England, 
came  slowly  along  the  passage  leading  from  the  Pope's 
apartments,  with  Hans  Steinmann,  Cardinal-Protector  of 
Germany,  blowing  at  his  side.  They  entered  the  lift,  still 
in  silence,  and  passed  out,  two  splendid  vivid  figures,  one 
erect  and  virile,  the  other  bent,  fat,  and  very  German  from 
spectacles  to  flat  buckled  feet. 

At  the  door  of  Percy's  suite,  the  Englishman  paused, 
made  a  little  gesture  of  reverence,  and  went  in  without  a 
word. 

A  secretary,  young  Mr.  Brent,  lately  from  England, 
stood  up  as  his  patron  came  in. 

"Eminence,"  he  said,  "the  English  papers  are  come." 

Percy  put  out  a  hand,  took  a  paper,  passed  on  into  his 
inner  room,  and  sat  down. 

There  it  all  was — gigantic  headlines,  and  four  columns 
of  print  broken  by  startling  title  phrases  in  capital  let- 
ters, after  the  fashion  set  by  America  a  hundred  years  ago. 
No  better  way  even  yet  had  been  found  of  misinforming 
the  unintelligent. 

He  looked  at  the  top.     It  was  the  English  edition  of  the 

Era.     Then  he  read  the  headlines.     They  ran  as  follows: 

"The  National  Worship.     Bewildering  Splendour. 

Religious    Enthusiasm.      The    Abbey    and    God. 

Catholic  Fanatic.   Ex-Priests  as  Functionaries." 


THE  ENCOUNTER  183 

He  ran  his  eyes  down  the  page,  reading  the  vivid  little 
phrases,  and  drawing  from  the  whole  a  kind  of  impression- 
ist view  of  the  scenes  in  the  Abbey  on  the  previous  day, 
of  which  he  had  already  been  informed  by  the  telegraph, 
and  the  discussion  of  which  had  been  the  purpose  of  his  in- 
terview just  now  with  the  Holy  Father. 

There  plainly  was  no  additional  news ;  and  he  was  laying 
the  paper  down  when  his  eye  caught  a  name. 

"It  is  understood  that  Mr.  Francis,  the  ceremoniarius  (to 
whom  the  thanks  of  all  are  due  for  his  reverent  zeal  and 
skill),  will  proceed  shortly  to  the  northern  towns  to  lecture 
on  the  Ritual.  It  is  interesting  to  reflect  that  this  gentle- 
man only  a  few  months  ago  was  officiating  at  a  Catholic 
altar.  He  was  assisted  in  his  labours  by  twenty-four  con- 
freres with  the  same  experience  behind  them." 

"Good  God!"  said  Percy  aloud.  Then  he  laid  the  paper 
down. 

But  his  thoughts  had  soon  left  this  renegade  behind,  and 
once  more  he  was  running  over  in  his  mind  the  significance 
of  the  whole  affair,  and  the  advice  that  he  had  thought  it 
his  duty  to  give  just  now  upstairs. 

Briefly,  there  was  no  use  in  disputing  the  fact  that  the 
inauguration  of  Pantheistic  worship  had  been  as  stupen- 
dous a  success  in  England  as  in  Germany.  France,  by 
the  way,  was  still  too  busy  with  the  cult  of  human  individ- 
uals, to  develop  larger  ideas. 

But  England  was  deeper;  and,  somehow,  in  spite  of 
prophecy,  the  aff^air  had  taken  place  without  even  a  touch 
of  bathos  or  grotesqueness.  It  had  been  said  that  Eng- 
land was  too  solid  and  too  humorous.  Yet  there  had  been 
extraordinary  scenes  the  day  before.     A  great  murmur  of 


184.  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

enthusiasm  had  rolled  round  the  Abbey  from  end  to  end  as 
the  gorgeous  curtains  ran  back,  and  the  huge  masculine 
figure,  majestic  and  overwhelming,  coloured  with  exquisite 
art,  had  stood  out  above  the  blaze  of  candles  against  the  tall 
screen  that  shrouded  the  shrine.  Markenheim  had  done 
his  work  well ;  and  Mr.  Brand's  passionate  discourse  had 
well  prepared  the  popular  mind  for  the  revelation.  He  had 
quoted  in  his  peroration  passage  after  passage  from  the 
Jewish  prophets,  telling  of  the  City  of  Peace  whose  walls 
rose  now  before  their  eyes. 

"Arise,  shine,  for  thy  light  is  come,  and  the  glory  of 
the  Lord  is  risen  upon  thee.  .  .  .  For  behold  I  create  new 
heavens  and  a  new  earth;  and  the  former  shall  not  be  re- 
membered nor  come  into  mind.  .  .  .  Violence  shall  no  more 
be  heard  in  thy  land,  wasting  nor  destruction  zvithin  thy 
borders.  0  thou  so  long  afflicted,  tossed  with  tempest  and 
not  comforted;  behold  I  will  lay  thy  stones  with  fair 
colours,  and  thy  foundations  with  sapphires.  .  .  .  I  will 
make  thy  windows  of  agates  and  thy  gates  of  carbuncles, 
and  all  thy  borders  of  pleasant  stones.  Arise,  shine,  for 
thy  light  is  come." 

As  the  chink  of  the  censer-chains  had  sounded  in  the 
stillness,  with  one  consent  the  enormous  crowd  had  fallen 
on  its  knees,  and  so  remained,  as  the  smoke  curled  up  from 
the  hands  of  the  rebel  figure  who  held  the  thurible.  Then 
the  organ  had  begun  to  blow,  and  from  the  huge  massed 
chorus  in  the  transepts  had  rolled  out  the  antliem,  broken 
by  one  passionate  cry,  from  some  mad  Catholic.  But  it 
had  been  silenced  In  an  instant.  .    .    . 

It  was  Incredible — utterly  incredible,  Percy  had  told  him- 
self.    Yet  the  incredible  had  happened;  and  England  had 


THE  ENCOUNTER  186 

found  its  worship  once  more — the  necessary  culmination 
of  unimpeded  subjectivity.  From  the  provinces  had  come 
the  like  news.  In  cathedral  after  cathedral  had  been  the 
same  scenes.  Markenheim's  masterpiece,  executed  in  four 
days  after  the  passing  of  the  bill,  had  been  reproduced  by 
the  ordinary  machinery,  and  four  thousand  replicas  had 
been  despatched  to  every  important  centre.  Telegraphic 
reports  had  streamed  into  the  London  papers  that  every- 
where the  new  movement  had  been  received  with  acclama- 
tion, and  that  human  instincts  had  found  adequate  expres- 
sion at  last.  If  there  had  not  been  a  God,  mused  Percy 
reminiscently,  it  would  have  been  necessary  to  invent  one. 
He  was  astonished,  too,  at  the  skill  with  which  the  new  cult 
had  been  framed.  It  moved  round  no  disputable  points ; 
there  was  no  possibility  of  divergent  political  tendencies 
to  mar  its  success,  no  over-insistence  on  citizenship,  labour 
and  the  rest,  for  those  who  were  secretly  individualistic  and 
idle.  Life  was  the  one  fount  and  centre  of  it  all,  clad  in 
the  gorgeous  robes  of  ancient  worship.  Of  course  the 
thought  had  been  Felsenburgh's,  though  a  German  name 
had  been  mentioned.  It  was  Positivism  of  a  kind,  Catholi- 
cism without  Christianity,  Humanity  worship  without  its 
inadequacy.  It  was  not  man  that  was  worshipped  but  the 
Idea  of  man,  deprived  of  his  supernatural  principle. 
Sacrifice,  too,  was  recognised — the  instinct  of  oblation 
without  the  demand  made  by  transcendent  Holiness  upon 
the  blood-guiltiness  of  man.  ...  In  fact, — in  fact,  said 
Percy,  it  was  exactly  as  clever  as  the  devil,  and  as  old  as 
Cain. 

The  advice  he  had  given  to  the  Holy  Father  just  now  was 
a  counsel  of  despair,  or  of  hope ;  he  really  did  not  know 


186  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

which.  He  had  urged  that  a  stringent  decree  should  be 
issued,  forbidding  any  acts  of  violence  on  the  part  of  Cath- 
olics. The  faithful  were  to  be  encouraged  to  be  patient,  to 
hold  utterly  aloof  from  the  worship,  to  say  nothing  un- 
less they  were  questioned,  to  suffer  bonds  gladly.  He  had 
suggested,  in  company  with  the  German  Cardinal,  that  they 
two  should  return  to  their  respective  countries  at  the  close 
of  the  year,  to  encourage  the  waverers ;  but  the  answer  had 
been  that  their  vocation  was  to  remain  in  Rome,  unless 
something  unforeseen  happened. 

As  for  Felsenburgh,  there  was  little  news.  It  was  said 
that  he  was  in  the  East;  but  further  details  were  secret. 
Percy  understood  quite  well  why  he  had  not  been  present 
at  the  worship  as  had  been  expected.  First,  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  decide  between  the  two  countries  that  had 
established  it ;  and,  secondly,  he  was  too  brilliant  a  poli- 
tician to  risk  the  possible  association  of  failure  with  his 
own  person ;  thirdly,  there  was  something  the  matter  with 
the  East. 

This  last  point  was  difficult  to  understand ;  it  had  not  yet 
become  explicit,  but  it  seemed  as  if  the  movement  of  last 
year  had  not  yet  run  its  course.  It  was  undoubtedly  diffi- 
cult to  explain  the  new  President's  constant  absences  from 
his  adopted  continent,  unless  there  was  something  that  de- 
manded his  presence  elsewhere;  but  the  extreme  discretion 
of  the  East  and  the  stringent  precautions  taken  by  the  Em- 
pire made  it  impossible  to  know  any  details.  It  was  appar- 
ently connected  with  religion  ;  there  were  rumours,  portents, 
prophets,  ecstatics  there. 

Upon  Percy  himself  had  fallen  a  subtle  change  which  he 


THE  ENCOUNTER  187 

himself  was  recognising.  He  no  longer  soared  to  confidence 
or  sank  to  despair.  He  said  his  mass,  read  his  enormous 
correspondence,  meditated  strictly ;  and,  though  he  felt 
nothing  he  knew  everything.  There  was  not  a  tinge  of 
doubt  upon  his  faith,  but  neither  was  there  emotion  in  it. 
He  was  as  one  who  laboured  in  the  depths  of  the  earth, 
crushed  even  in  imagination,  yet  conscious  that  somewhere 
birds  sang,  and  the  sun  shone,  and  water  ran.  He  under- 
stood his  own  state  well  enough,  and  perceived  that  he  had 
come  to  a  reality  of  faith  that  was  new  to  him,  for  it  was 
sheer  faith — sheer  apprehension  of  the  Spiritual — without 
either  the  dangers  or  the  joys  of  imaginative  vision.  He 
expressed  It  to  himself  by  saying  that  there  were  three 
processes  through  which  God  led  the  soul :  the  first  was  that 
of  external  faith,  which  assents  to  all  things  presented  by 
the  accustomed  authority,  practises  religion,  and  is  neither 
interested  nor  doubtful ;  the  second  follows  the  quickening 
of  the  emotional  and  perceptive  powers  of  the  soul,  and  is 
set  about  with  consolations,  desires,  mystical  visions  and 
perils ;  it  is  In  this  plane  that  resolutions  are  taken  and 
vocations  found  and  shipwrecks  experienced ;  and  the  third, 
mysterious  and  inexpressible,  consists  in  the  re-enactment 
in  the  purely  spiritual  sphere  of  all  that  has  preceded  (as 
a  play  follows  a  rehearsal),  in  which  God  is  grasped  but 
not  experienced,  grace  is  absorbed  unconsciously  and  even 
distastefully,  and  little  by  little  the  inner  spirit  is  conformed 
in  the  depths  of  its  being,  far  within  the  spheres  of  emo- 
tion and  intellectual  perception,  to  the  image  and  mind  of 
Christ. 

So  he  lay  back  now,  thinking,  a  long,  stately,  scarlet  fig- 
ure, in  his  deep  chair,  staring  out  over  Holy  Rome  seen 


188  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

through  tlic  misty  September  haze.  How  long,  he  won- 
dered, would  there  be  peace?  To  his  eyes  even  already  the 
air  was  black  with  doom. 

He  struck  his  hand-bell  at  last. 

"Bring  me  Father  Blackmore's  last  report,"  he  said,  as 
his  secretary  appeared. 


II 


Percy's  intuitive  faculties  were  keen  by  nature  and  had 
been  vastly  increased  by  cultivation.  He  had  never  for- 
gotten Father  Blackmore's  shrewd  remarks  of  a  year  ago; 
and  one  of  his  first  acts  as  Cardinal-Protector  had  been  to 
appoint  that  priest  on  the  list  of  English  correspondents. 
Hitherto  he  had  received  some  dozen  letters,  and  not  one  of 
them  had  been  without  its  grain  of  gold.  Especially  he  had 
noticed  that  one  warning  ran  through  them  all,  namely, 
that  sooner  or  later  there  would  be  some  overt  act  of  provo- 
cation on  the  part  of  English  Catholics ;  and  it  was  the 
memory  of  this  that  had  inspired  his  vehement  entreaties  to 
the  Pope  this  morning.  As  in  the  Roman  and  African 
persecutions  of  the  first  three  centuries,  so  now,  the  great- 
est danger  to  the  Catholic  community  lay  not  in  the  unjust 
measures  of  the  Government  but  in  the  indiscreet  zeal  of 
the  faithful  themselves.  The  world  desired  nothing  better 
than  a  handle  to  its  blade.  The  scabbard  was  already  cast 
away. 

When  the  young  man  had  brought  the  four  closely  written 
sheets,    dated    from    Westminster,    the    previous    evening, 


THE  ENCOUNTER  189 

Percy  turned  at  once  to  the  last  paragraph  before  the 
usual  Recommendations. 

"Mr.  Brand's  late  secretary,  Mr.  Phillips,  whom  your 
Eminence  commended  to  me,  has  been  to  see  me  two  or 
three  times.  He  is  in  a  curious  state.  He  has  no  faith; 
yet,  intellectually,  he  sees  no  hope  anywhere  but  in  the 
Catholic  Church.  He  has  even  begged  for  admission  to 
the  Order  of  Christ  Crucified,  which  of  course  is  impos- 
sible. But  there  is  no  doubt  he  is  sincere;  otherwise  he 
would  have  professed  Catholicism.  I  have  introduced  him 
to  many  Catholics  in  the  hope  that  they  may  help  him.  I 
should  much  wish  your  Eminence  to  see  him." 

Before  leaving  England,  Percy  had  followed  up  the  ac- 
quaintance he  had  made  so  strangely  over  Mrs.  Brand's 
reconciliation  to  God,  and,  scarcely  knowing  why,  had 
commended  him  to  the  priest.  He  had  not  been  particularly 
impressed  by  Mr.  Phillips ;  he  had  thought  him  a  timid, 
undecided  creature,  yet  he  had  been  struck  by  the  extremely 
unselfish  action  by  which  the  man  had  forfeited  his  posi- 
tion.   There  must  surely  be  a  good  deal  behind. 

And  now  the  impulse  had  come  to  send  for  him.  Perhaps 
the  spiritual  atmosphere  of  Rome  would  precipitate  faith. 
In  any  case,  the  conversation  of  Mr.  Brand's  late  secretary 
might  be  instructive. 

He  struck  the  bell  again. 

"Mr.  Brent,"  he  said,  "in  your  next  letter  to  Father 
Blackmore,  tell  him  that  I  wish  to  see  the  man  whom  he 
proposed  to  send — Mr.  Phillips." 

"Yes,  Eminence." 

"There  is  no  hurry.    He  can  send  him  at  his  leisure." 

"Yes,  Eminence." 


190  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"But  he  must  not  come  till  January.     That  will  be  time 
enough,  unless  there  is  urgent  reason." 
"Yes,  Eminence." 

The  development  of  the  Order  of  Christ  Crucified  had 
gone  forward  with  almost  miraculous  success.  The  appeal 
issued  by  the  Holy  Father  throughout  Christendom  had 
been  as  fire  among  stubble.  It  seemed  as  if  the  Christian 
world  had  reached  exactly  that  point  of  tension  at  which  a 
new  organisation  of  this  nature  was  needed,  and  the  re- 
sponse had  startled  even  the  most  sanguine.  Practically 
the  whole  of  Rome  with  its  suburbs — three  millions  in  all 
— had  run  to  the  enrolling  stations  in  St.  Peter's  as  starv- 
ing men  run  to  food,  and  desperate  to  the  storming  of  a 
breach.  For  day  after  day  the  Pope  himself  had  sat  en- 
throned below  the  altar  of  the  Chair,  a  glorious,  radiant 
figure,  growing  ever  white  and  weary  towards  evening, 
imparting  his  Blessing  with  a  silent  sign  to  each  individual 
of  the  vast  crowd  that  swarmed  up  between  the  barriers, 
fresh  from  fast  and  Communion,  to  kneel  before  his  new 
Superior  and  kiss  the  Pontifical  ring.  The  requirements 
had  been  as  stringent  as  circumstances  allowed.  Each  pos- 
tulant was  obliged  to  go  to  confession  to  a  specially  au- 
thorised priest,  who  examined  sharply  into  motives  and 
sincerity,  and  only  one-third  of  the  applicants  had  been 
accepted.  This,  the  authorities  pointed  out  to  the  scorn- 
ful, was  not  an  excessive  proportion ;  for  it  was  to  be  re- 
membered that  most  of  those  who  had  presented  them- 
selves had  already  undergone  a  sifting  fierce  as  fire.  Of 
the  three  millions  in  Rome,  two  millions  at  least  were  exiles 
for  their  faith,  preferring  to  live  obscure  and  despised  in 


THE  ENCOUNTER  191 

the  shadow  of  God  rather  than  in  the  desolate  glare  of  their 
own  infidel  countries. 

On  the  fifth  evening  of  the  enrolment  of  novices  an  aston- 
ishing incident  had  taken  place.     The  old  King  of  Spain 

(Queen  Victoria's  second  son),  already  on  the  edge  of  the 
grave,  had  just  risen  and  tottered  before  his  Ruler;  it 
seemed  for  an  instant  as  if  he  would  fall,  when  the  Pope 
himself,  by  a  sudden  movement,  had  risen,  caught  him  in 
his  arms  and  kissed  him ;  and  then,  still  standing,  had 
spread  his  arms  abroad  and  delivered  a  fervorino  such 
as  never  had  been  heard  before  in  the  history  of  the 
basilica. 

"Benedictus  Dominus!"  he  cried,  with  upraised  face  and 
shining  eyes.  "Blessed  be  the  Lord  God  of  Israel,  for 
He  hath  visited  and  redeemed  His  people.  I,  John,  Vicar 
of  Christ,  Servant  of  Servants,  and  sinner  among  sinners, 
bid  you  be  of  good  courage  in  the  Name  of  God.  By  Him 
Who  hung  on  the  Cross,  I  promise  eternal  life  to  all  who 
persevere  in  His  Order.  He  Himself  has  said  it.  To  him 
that  overcometh  I  will  give  a  crorvn  of  life. 

"Little  children ;  fear  not  him  that  killeth  the  body.  There 
is  no  more  that  he  can  do.  God  and  His  Mother  are 
amongst  us.  ..." 

So  his  voice  had  poured  on,  telling  the  enormous  awe- 
stricken  crowd  of  the  blood  that  already  had  been  shed  on 
the  place  where  they  stood,  of  the  body  of  the  Apostle  that 
lay  scarcely  fifty  yards  away,  urging,  encouraging,  inspir- 
ing. They  had  vowed  themselves  to  death,  if  that 
were  God's  Will ;  and  if  not,  the  intention  would  be  taken 
for  the  deed.  They  were  under  obedience  now;  their  wills 
were  no  longer  theirs  but  God's :  under  chastity — for  their 


192  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

bodies  were  bought  with  a  price ;  under  poverty,  and  theirs 
was  the  kingdom  of  heaven. 

He  had  ended  by  a  great  silent  Benediction  of  the  City 
and  the  World:  and  there  were  not  wanting  a  half-dozen 
of  the  faithful  who  had  seen,  they  thought,  a  white  shape 
in  the  form  of  a  bird  that  hung  in  the  air  while  he  spoke — 
white  as  a  mist,  translucent  as  water.   .    .    . 

The  consequent  scenes  in  the  city  and  suburbs  had  been 
unparalleled,  for  thousands  of  families  had  with  one  con- 
sent dissolved  human  ties.  Husbands  had  found  their  way 
to  the  huge  houses  on  the  Quirinal  set  apart  for  them ;  wives 
to  the  Aventine ;  while  the  children,  as  confident  as  their 
parents,  had  swarmed  over  to  the  Sisters  of  St.  Vincent 
who  had  received  at  the  Pope's  orders  the  gift  of  three 
streets  to  shelter  them  in.  Everywhere  the  smoke  of  burn- 
ing went  up  in  the  squares  where  household  property,  ren- 
dered useless  by  the  vows  of  poverty,  were  consumed  by 
their  late  owners ;  and  daily  long  trains  moved  out  from 
the  station  outside  the  walls  carrying  jubilant  loads  of 
those  who  were  despatched  by  the  Pope's  delegates  to  be 
the  salt  of  men,  consumed  in  their  function,  and  leaven 
plunged  in  the  vast  measures  of  the  infidel  world.  And  that 
infidel  world  welcomed  their  coming  with  bitter  laughter. 

From  the  rest  of  Christendom  had  poured  in  news  of  suc- 
cess. The  same  precautions  had  been  observed  as  in  Rome, 
for  the  directions  issued  were  precise  and  searching ;  and 
day  after  day  came  in  the  long  rolls  of  the  new  Religious 
drawn  up  by  the  diocesan  superiors. 

Within  the  last  few  days,  too,  other  lists  had  arrived, 
more  glorious  than  all.  Not  only  did  reports  stream  in 
that  already  the  Order  was  beginning  its  work  and  that 


THE  ENCOUNTER  193 

already  broken  communications  were  being  re-established, 
that  devoted  missioners  were  in  process  of  organising  them- 
selves, and  that  hope  was  once  more  rising  in  the  most  des- 
perate hearts;  but  better  than  all  this  was  the  tidings  of 
victory  in  another  sphere.  In  Paris  forty  of  the  new- 
born Order  had  been  burned  alive  in  one  day  in  the  Latin 
quarter,  before  the  Government  intervened.  From  Spain, 
Holland,  Russia  had  come  in  other  names.  In  Diisscldorf 
eighteen  men  and  boys,  surprised  at  their  singing  of  Prime 
in  the  church  of  Saint  Laurence,  had  been  cast  down  one 
by  one  into  the  city-sewer,  each  chanting  as  he  vanished: 

"Christi  Fill  Dei  vivi  miserere  nobis," 
and  from  the  darkness  had  come  up  the  same  broken  song 
till  it  was  silenced  with  stones.     Meanwhile,  the  German 
prisons  were  thronged  with  the  first  batches  of  recusants. 

The  world  shrugged  its  shoulders,  and  declared  that  they 
had  brought  it  on  themselves,  while  3'et  it  deprecated  mob- 
violence,  and  requested  the  attention  of  the  authorities  and 
the  decisive  repression  of  this  new  conspiracy  of  supersti- 
tion. And  within  St.  Peter's  Church  the  workmen  were 
busy  at  the  long  rows  of  new  altars,  affixing  to  the  stone 
diptychs  the  brass-forged  names  of  those  who  had  already 
fulfilled  their  vows  and  gained  their  crowns. 

It  was  the  first  word  of  God's  reply  to  the  world's  chal- 
lenge. 

As  Christmas  drew  on  it  was  announced  that  the  Sovereign 
pontiff  would  sing  mass  on  the  last  day  of  the  year,  at  the 
papal  altar  of  Saint  Peter's,  on  behalf  of  the  Order ;  and 
preparations  began  to  be  made. 

It  was  to  be  a  kind  of  public  inauguration  of  the  new 


194  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

enterprise;  and,  to  the  astonishment  of  all,  a  special  sum- 
mons was  issued  to  all  members  of  the  Sacred  College 
througout  the  world  to  be  present,  unless  hindered  by  sick- 
ness. It  seemed  as  if  the  Pope  were  determined  that  the 
world  should  understand  that  war  was  declared;  for,  al- 
though the  command  would  not  involve  the  absence  of  any 
Cardinal  from  his  province  for  more  than  five  days,  yet 
many  inconveniences  must  surely  result.  However,  it  had 
been  said,  and  it  was  to  be  done. 

It  was  a  strange  Christmas. 

Percy  was  ordered  to  attend  the  Pope  at  his  second  mass, 
and  himself  said  his  three  at  midnight  in  his  own  private 
oratory.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  saw  that  of  which 
he  had  heard  so  often,  the  wonderful  old-world  Pontifical 
procession,  lit  by  torches,  going  through  the  streets  from 
the  Lateran  to  St.  Anastasia,  where  the  Pope  for  the  last 
few  years  had  restored  the  ancient  custom  discontinued  for 
nearly  a  century-and-a-half.  The  little  basilica  was  re- 
served, of  course,  in  every  corner  for  the  peculiarly  privi- 
leged ;  but  the  streets  outside  along  the  whole  route  from 
the  Cathedral  to  the  church — and,  indeed,  the  other  two 
sides  of  the  triangle  as  well,  were  one  dense  mass  of  silent 
heads  and  flaming  torches.  The  Holy  Father  was  attended 
at  the  altar  by  the  usual  sovereigns ;  and  Percy  from  his 
place  watched  the  heavenly  drama  of  Christ's  Passion 
enacted  through  the  veil  of  His  nativity  at  the  hands  of  His 
old  Angelic  Vicar.  It  was  hard  to  perceive  Calvary  here; 
it  was  surely  the  air  of  Bethlehem,  the  celestial  light,  not 
the  supernatural  darkness,  that  beamed  round  the  simple 
altar.     It  was  the  Child  called  Wonderful  that  lay  there 


THE  ENCOUNTER  195 

beneath  the  old  hands,  rather  than  the  stricken  Man  of  Sor- 
sows. 

Adeste  pdeles  sang  the  choir  from  the  tribune, — Come,  let 
us  adore,  rather  than  weep ;  let  us  exult,  be  content,  be  our- 
selves like  little  children.  As  He  for  us  became  a  child,  let 
us  become  childlike  for  Him.  Let  us  put  on  the  garments 
of  infancy  and  the  shoes  of  peace.  For  the  Lord  hath 
reigned;  He  is  clothed  with  beauty:  the  Lord  is  clothed 
with  strength  and  hath  girded  Himself.  He  hath  estab- 
lished the  world  which  shall  not  be  moved:  His  throne  is  pre- 
pared from  of  old.  He  is  from  everlasting.  Rejoice 
greatly  then,  0  daughter  of  Zion,  shout  for  joy,  O  daugh- 
ter of  Jerusalem;  behold  thy  King  cometh,  to  thee,  the  Holy 
One,  the  Saviour  of  the  world.  It  will  be  time,  then,  to 
suffer  by  and  bye,  when  the  Prince  of  this  world  cometh 
upon  the  Prince  of  Heaven. 

So  Percy  mused,  standing  apart  in  his  gorgeousness,  striv- 
ing to  make  himself  little  and  simple.  Surely  nothing  was 
too  hard  for  God !  Might  not  this  mystic  Birth  once  more 
do  what  it  had  done  before — bring  into  subjection  through 
the  might  of  its  weakness  every  proud  thing  that  exalts 
itself  above  all  that  is  called  God.''  It  had  drawn  wise  Kings 
once  across  the  desert,  as  well  as  shepherds  from  their 
flocks.  It  had  kings  about  it  now,  kneeling  with  the  poor 
and  foolish,  kings  who  had  laid  down  their  crowns,  who 
brought  the  gold  of  loyal  hearts,  the  myrrh  of  desired  mar- 
tyrdom, and  the  incense  of  a  pure  faith.  Could  not  repub- 
lics, too,  lay  aside  their  splendour,  mobs  be  tamed,  selfishness 
deny  itself,  and  wisdom  confess  its  ignorance.''  .    .    . 

Then  he  remembered  Felsenburgh;  and  his  heart  sickened 
within  him. 


196  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

III 

Six  days  later,  Percy  rose  as  usual,  said  his  mass,  break- 
fasted, and  sat  down  to  say  office  until  his  servant  should 
summon  him  to  vest  for  the  Pontifical  mass. 

He  had  learned  to  expect  bad  news  now  so  constantly — of 
apostasies,  deaths,  losses — that  the  lull  of  the  previous 
week  had  come  to  him  with  extraordinary  refreshment.  It 
appeared  to  him  as  if  his  musings  in  St.  Anastasia  had  been 
truer  than  he  thought,  and  that  the  sweetness  of  the  old 
feast  had  not  yet  wholly  lost  its  power  even  over  a  world 
that  denied  its  substance.  For  nothing  at  all  had  happened 
of  importance.  A  few  more  martyrdoms  had  been 
chronicled,  but  they  had  been  isolated  cases ;  and  of  Fel- 
senburgh  there  had  been  no  tidings  at  all.  Europe  con- 
fessed its  ignorance  of  his  business. 

On  the  other  hand,  to-morrow,  Percy  knew  very  well, 
would  be  a  day  of  extraordinary  moment  in  England  and 
Germany  at  any  rate ;  for  in  England  it  was  appointed  as 
the  first  occasion  of  compulsory  worship  throughout  the 
country,  while  it  was  the  second  in  Germany.  Men  and 
women  would  have  to  declare  themselves  now. 

He  had  seen  on  the  previous  evening  a  photograph  of 
the  image  that  was  to  be  worshipped  next  day  in  the  Abbey ; 
and,  in  a  fit  of  loathing,  had  torn  it  to  shreds.  It  repre- 
sented a  nude  woman,  huge  and  majestic,  entrancingly 
lovely,  with  head  and  shoulders  thrown  back,  as  one  who 
sees  a  strange  and  heavenly  vision,  arms  downstrctched  and 
hands  a  little  raised,  with  wide  fingers,  as  in  astonishment — ■ 
the  whole  attitude,  with  feet  and  knees  pressed  together, 
suggestive  of  expectation,  hope  and  wonder;  in  devilish 


THE  ExNXOUNTER  197 

mockery  her  long  hair  was  crowned  with  twelve  stars.  This, 
then,  was  the  spouse  of  the  other,  the  embodiment  of  man's 
ideal  maternity,  still  waiting  for  her  child.  .    .    . 

When  the  white  scraps  lay  like  poisonous  snow  at  his 
feet,  he  had  sprung  across  the  room  to  his  prie-dieu,  and 
fallen  there  in  an  agony  of  reparation. 

"Oh !  Mother,  Mother !"  he  cried  to  the  stately  Queen  of 
Heaven  who,  with  Her  true  Son  long  ago  in  Her  arms, 
looked  down  on  him  from  Her  bracket — no  more  than  that. 

But  he  was  still  again  this  morning,  and  celebrated  Saint 
Silvester,  Pope  and  Martj'r,  the  last  saint  in  the  procession 
of  the  Christian  year,  with  tolerable  equanimity.  The 
sights  of  last  night,  the  throng  of  officials,  the  stately, 
scarlet,  unfamiliar  figures  of  the  Cardinals  who  had  come 
in  from  north,  south,  east  and  west — these  helped  to  re- 
assure him  again — unreasonably,  as  he  knew,  yet  effec- 
tually. The  very  air  was  electric  witli  expectation.  All 
night  the  piazza  had  been  crowded  by  a  huge,  silent  mob 
waiting  till  the  opening  of  the  doors  at  seven  o'clock.  Now 
the  church  itself  was  full,  and  the  piazza  full  again.  Far 
down  the  street  to  the  river,  so  far  as  he  could  see  as  he  had 
leaned  from  his  window  just  now,  lay  that  solemn  motion- 
less pavement  of  heads.  The  roof  of  the  colonnade  showed 
a  fringe  of  them,  the  house-tops  were  black — and  this  in 
the  bitter  cold  of  a  clear,  frosty  morning,  for  it  was  an- 
nounced that  after  mass  and  the  proceeding  of  the  members 
of  the  Order  past  the  Pontifical  Throne,  the  Pope  would 
give  Apostolic  Benediction  to  the  City  and  the  World. 

Percy  finished  Terce,  closed  his  book  and  lay  back;  his 
servant  would  be  here  in  a  minute  now. 


198  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

His  mind  began  to  run  over  the  function,  and  he  reflected 
that  the  entire  Sacred  College  (with  the  exception  of  the 
Cardinal-Protector  of  Jerusalem,  detained  by  sickness), 
numbering  sixty-four  members,  would  take  part.  This 
would  mean  an  unique  sight  by  and  bye.  Eight  years  be- 
fore, he  remembered,  after  the  freedom  of  Rome,  there 
had  been  a  similar  assembly ;  but  the  Cardinals  at  that  time 
amounted  to  no  more  than  fifty-three  all  told,  and  four  had 
been  absent. 

Then  he  heard  voices  in  his  ante-room,  a  quick  step,  and 
a  loud  English  expostulation.  That  was  curious,  and  he 
sat  up. 

Then  he  heard  a  sentence. 

"His  Eminence  must  go  to  vest ;  it  is  useless." 

There  was  a  sharp  answer,  a  faint  scuffle,  and  a  snatch 
at  the  handle.  This  was  indecent ;  so  Percy  stood  up,  made 
three  strides  of  it  to  the  door,  and  tore  it  open. 

A  man  stood  there,  whom  at  first  he  did  not  recognise,  pale 
and  disordered. 

"Why — "  began  Percy,  and  recoiled. 

"Mr.  Phillips !"  he  said. 

The  other  threw  out  his  hands. 

"It  is  I,  sir — your  Eminence — this  moment  arrived.  It 
is  life  and  death.     Your  servant  tells  me " 

"Who  sent  you.?" 

"Father  Blackmore." 

"Good  news  or  bad?" 

The  man  rolled  his  ej^es  towards  the  servant,  who  still  stood 
erect  and  offended  a  yard  away ;  and  Percy  understood. 

He  put  his  hand  on  the  other's  arm,  drawing  him  through 
the  doorway. 


THE  ENCOUNTER  199 

"Tap  upon  this  door  in  two  minutes,  James,"  he  said. 

They  passed  across  the  polished  floor  together ;  Percy 
went  to  his  usual  place  in  the  window,  leaned  against  the 
shutter,  and  spoke. 

"Tell  me  in  one  sentence,  sir,"  he  said  to  the  breathless 
man. 

"There  is  a  plot  among  the  Catholics.  They  intend 
destroying  the  Abbey  to-morrow  with  explosives.  I  knew 
that  the  Pope " 

Percy  cut  him  short  witJi  a  gesture. 


CHAPTER  VI 


The  volor-stage  was  comparatively  empty  this  afternoon, 
as  the  httle  party  of  six  stepped  out  on  to  it  from  the 
lift.  There  was  nothing  to  distinguish  these  from  ordinary 
travellers.  The  two  Cardinals  of  Germany  and  England 
were  wrapped  in  plain  furs,  without  insignia  of  any  kind; 
their  chaplains  stood  near  them,  while  the  two  men-servants 
hurried  forward  with  the  bags  to  secure  a  private  compart- 
ment. 

The  four  kept  complete  silence,  watching  the  busy  move- 
ments of  the  officials  on  board,  staring  unseeingly  at  the 
sleek,  polished  monster  that  lay  netted  in  steel  at  their  feet, 
and  the  great  folded  fins  that  would  presently  be  cutting 
the  thin  air  at  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  an  hour. 

Then  Percy,  by  a  sudden  movement,  turned  from  the 
others,  went  to  the  open  window  that  looked  over  Rome, 
and  leaned  there  with  his  elbows  on  the  sill,  looking. 

It  was  a  strange  view  before  him. 

It  was  darkening  now  towards  sunset,  and  the  sk}',  prim- 
rose-green overhead,  deepened  to  a  clear  tawny  orange 
above  the  horizon,  with  a  sanguine  line  or  two  at  the  edge, 
and  beneath  that  lay  the  deep  evening  violet  of  the  city, 
blotted  here  and  there  by  the  black  of  c\'presses  and  cut  by 
the  thin  leafless  pinnacles  of  a  poplar  grove  that  aspired 
without  the  walls.     But  right  across  the  picture  rose  the 


THE  ENCOUNTER  201 

enormous  dome,  of  an  indescribable  tint ;  it  was  grey,  it  was 
violet — it  was  what  the  eye  chose  to  make  it — and  through 
it,  giving  its  solidity  the  air  of  a  bubble,  shone  the  southern 
sky,  flushed  too  with  faint  orange.  It  was  this  that  was  su- 
preme and  dominant ;  the  serrated  line  of  domes,  spires  and 
pinnacles,  the  crowded  roofs  beneath,  in  the  valley  dell' 
Inferno,  the  fairy  hills  far  away — all  were  but  the  annexe 
to  this  mighty  tabernacle  of  God.  Already  lights  were  be- 
ginning to  shine,  as  for  thirty  centuries  they  had  shone; 
thin  straight  skeins  of  smoke  were  ascending  against  the 
darkening  sky.  The  hum  of  this  Mother  of  cities  was  be- 
ginning to  be  still,  for  the  keen  air  kept  folks  indoors ;  and 
the  evening  peace  was  descending  that  closed  another  day 
and  another  year.  Beneath  in  the  narrow  streets  Percy 
could  see  tiny  figures,  hurrjang  like  belated  ants  ;  the  crack 
of  a  whip,  the  cry  of  a  woman,  the  wail  of  a  child  came  up 
to  this  immense  elevation  like  details  of  a  murmur  from  an- 
other world.  They,  too,  would  soon  be  quiet,  and  there 
would  be  peace. 

A  heavy  bell  beat  faintly  from  far  away,  and  the  drowsy 
city  turned  to  murmur  its  good-night  to  the  Mother  of  God. 
From  a  thousand  towers  came  the  tiny  melody,  floating 
across  the  great  air  spaces,  in  a  thousand  accents,  the  solemn 
bass  of  St.  Peter's,  the  mellow  tenor  of  the  Lateran,  the 
rough  cry  from  some  old  slum  church,  the  peevish  tinkle  rtf 
convents  and  chapels — all  softened  and  made  m3^stical  in 
this  grave  evening  air — it  was  the  wedding  of  delicate  sound 
and  clear  light.  Above,  the  liquid  orange  sky ;  beneath, 
this  sweet,  subdued  ecstas}^  of  bells. 

"Alma  Redemptoris  ]\fater,"  whispered  Percy,  his  e3'es  wet 
with  tears.     "Gentle  Mother  of  the  Redeemer — the  open 


202  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

door  of  the  sky,  star  of  the  sea — have  mercy  on  sinners. 
The  Angel  of  the  Lord  announced  it  to  Mary,  and  she  con- 
ceived of  the  Holy  Ghost.  .  .  .  Pour,  therefore.  Lord,  Thy 
grace  into  our  hearts.  Let  us,  who  know  Christ's  incarna- 
tion, rise  through  passion  and  cross  to  the  glory  of  Resur- 
rection— through  the  same  Christ  our  Lord." 

Another  bell  clanged  sharply  close  at  hand,  calling  him 
down  to  earth,  and  wrong,  and  labour  and  grief;  and  he 
turned  to  see  the  motionless  volor  itself  one  blaze  of  bril- 
liant internal  light,  and  the  two  priests  following  the  Ger- 
man Cardinal  across  the  gangway. 

It  was  the  rear  compartment  that  the  men  had  taken ; 
and  when  he  had  seen  that  the  old  man  was  comfortable,  still 
without  a  word  he  passed  out  again  into  the  central  pas- 
sage to  see  the  last  of  Rome. 

The  exit-door  had  now  been  snapped,  and  as  Percy  stood 
at  the  opposite  window  looking  out  at  the  high  wall  that 
would  presently  sink  beneath  him,  throughout  the  whole  of 
the  delicate  frame  began  to  run  the  vibration  of  the  electric 
engine.  There  was  the  murmur  of  talking  somewhere,  a 
heavy  step  shook  the  floor,  a  bell  clanged  again,  twice,  and 
a  sweet  wind-chord  sounded.  Again  it  sounded ;  the  vibra- 
tion ceased,  and  the  edge  of  the  high  wall  against  the 
tawny  sky  on  which  he  had  fixed  his  eyes  sank  suddenly 
like  a  dropped  bar,  and  he  staggered  a  little  in  his  place. 
A  moment  later  the  dome  rose  again,  and  itself  sank,  tl;e 
city,  a  fringe  of  towers  and  a  mass  of  dark  roofs,  pricked 
with  light,  span  like  a  whirlpool;  the  jewelled  stars  them- 
selves sprang  this  way  and  that;  and  with  one  more  long 
cry  the  marvellous  machine  righted  itself,  beat  with  its 
wings,  and  settled  down,  with  the  note  of  the  flying  air  pass- 


THE  ENCOUNTER  203 

ing  through  rising  shrilhicss  into  A'ibrant  silence,  to  its  long 
voyage  to  the  north. 

Further  and  further  sank  the  city  behind ;  it  was  a  patch 
now :  greyness  on  black.  The  sky  seemed  to  grow  more 
huge  and  all-containing  as  the  earth  relapsed  into  darkness ; 
it  glowed  like  a  vast  dome  of  wonderful  glass,  darkening 
even  as  it  glowed ;  and  as  Perc}'  dropped  his  ej'es  once  more 
round  the  extreme  edge  of  the  car  the  city  was  but  a  line 
and  a  bubble — a  line  and  a  swelling — a  line,  and  nothing- 
ness. 

He  drew  a  long  breath,  and  went  back  to  his  friends. 


II 


"Tell  me  again,"  said  the  old  Cardinal,  when  the  two  were 
settled  down  opposite  to  one  another,  and  the  chaplains 
were  gone  to  another  compartment.     "Who  is  this  man?" 

"A  kind  of  Apollo — or  Jupiter,  my  dear,"  put  in  Oliver. 

"This  man?  He  was  secretary  to  Oliver  Brand,  one  of 
our  politicians.  He  fetched  me  to  old  Mrs.  Brand's  death- 
bed, and  lost  his  place  in  consequence.  He  is  in  journalism 
now.  He  is  perfectly  honest.  No,  he  is  not  a  Catholic, 
though  he  longs  to  be  one.  That  is  why  they  confided  in 
him." 

"And  they?" 

"I  know  nothing  of  them,  except  that  they  are  a  desperate 
set.  They  have  enough  faith  to  act,  but  not  enough  to  be 
patient.  ...  I  suppose  they  thought  this  man  would  sym- 
pathise. But  unfortunately  he  has  a  conscience,  and  he 
also  sees  that  any  attempt  of  this  kind  would  be  the  last 


204  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

straw  on  the  back  of  toleration.  Eminence,  do  jou  realise 
how  violent  the  feeling  is  against  us?" 

The  old  man  shook  his  head  lamentabl}'. 

"Do  I  not?"  he  murmured.  "And  my  Germans  are  in  it? 
Are  you  sure?" 

"Eminence,  it  is  a  vast  plot.  It  has  been  simmering  for 
months.  There  have  been  meetings  every  week.  They  have 
kept  the  secret  marvellously.  Your  Germans  only  delayed 
that  the  blow  might  be  more  complete.  And  now,  to- 
morrow— "  Percy  drew  back  with  a  despairing  gesture. 

"And  the  Holy  Father?" 

"I  went  to  him  as  soon  as  mass  was  over.  He  withdrew  all 
opposition,  and  sent  for  you.  It  is  our  one  chance,  Emi- 
nence." 

"And  you  think  our  plan  will  hinder  it?" 

"I  have  no  idea,  but  I  can  think  of  nothing  else.  I  shall 
go  straight  to  the  Archbishop  and  tell  him  all.  We  arrive, 
I  believe,  at  three  o'clock,  and  you  in  Berlin  about  seven, 
I  suppose,  by  German  time.  The  function  is  fixed  for 
eleven.  By  eleven,  then,  we  shall  have  done  all  that  is  pos- 
sible. The  Government  will  know,  and  they  will  know,  too, 
that  we  are  innocent  in  Rome.  I  imagine  they  will  cause  it 
to  be  announced  that  the  Cardinal-Protector  and  the  Arch- 
bishop, with  his  coadjutors,  will  be  present  in  the  sacristies. 
They  will  double  every  guard ;  they  will  parade  volors  over- 
head— and  then — well!  in  God's  hands  be  the  rest." 

"Do  you  think  the  conspirators  will  attempt  it?" 

"I  have  no  idea,"  said  Percy  shortly. 

"I  understand  they  have  alternative  plans." 

"Just  so.  If  all  is  clear,  they  intend  dropping  the  ex- 
plosive from  above ;  if  not,  at  least  three  men  have  offered 


THE  ENCOUNTER  205 

to  sacrifice  themselves  by  taking  it  into  the  Abbey  them- 
selves. .    .    .  And  you,  Eminence?" 

The  old  man  eyed  him  steadily, 

"My  programme  is  yours,"  he  said.  "Eminence,  have  you 
considered  the  effect  in  either  case?  If  nothing  hap- 
pens  " 

"If  nothing  happens  we  shall  be  accused  of  a  fraud,  of 
seeking  to  advertise  ourselves.  If  anything  happens — well, 
we  shall  all  go  before  God  together.  Pray  God  it  may  be 
the  second,"  he  added  passionately. 

"It  will  be  at  least  easier  to  bear,"  observed  the  old  man. 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  Eminence.  I  should  not  have  said 
that." 

There  fell  a  silence  between  the  two,  in  which  no  sound 
was  heard  but  the  faint  untiring  vibration  of  the  screw, 
and  the  sudden  cough  of  a  man  in  the  next  compartment. 
Percy  leaned  his  head  wearily  on  his  hand,  and  stared  from 
the  window. 

The  earth  was  now  dark  beneath  them — an  immense  empti- 
ness; above,  the  huge  engulfing  sky  was  still  faintly 
luminous,  and  through  the  high  frosty  mist  through  which 
they  moved  stars  glimmered  now  and  again,  as  the  car 
swayed  and  tacked  across  the  wind. 

"It  will  be  cold  among  the  Alps,"  murmured  Percy.  Then 
he  broke  off.  "And  I  have  not  one  shred  of  evidence,"  he 
said;  "nothing  but  the  word  of  a  man." 

"And  you  are  sure?" 

"I  am  sure." 

"Eminence,"  said  the  German  suddenly,  staring  straight 
into  his  face,  "the  likeness  is  extraordinary." 

Percy  smiled  listlessly.     He  was  tired  of  hearing  that. 


206  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"What  do  you  make  of  it?"  persisted  the  other. 

"I  have  been  asked  that  before,"  said  Percy.  "I  have  no 
views." 

"It  seems  to  me  that  God  means  something,"  murmured 
the  German  heavily,  still  staring  at  him. 

"Well,  Eminence.?" 

"A  kind  of  antithesis — a  reverse  of  the  medal.  I  do  not 
know." 

Again  there  was  silence.  A  chaplain  looked  in  through 
the  glazed  door,  a  homely,  blue-eyed  German,  and  was 
waved  away  once  more. 

"Eminence,"  said  the  old  man  abruptly,  "there  is  surely 
more  to  speak  of.     Plans  to  be  made." 

Percy  shook  his  head. 

"There  are  no  plans  to  be  made,"  he  said.  "We  know 
nothing  but  the  fact — no  names — nothing.  We — we  are 
like  children  in  a  tiger's  cage.  And  one  of  us  has  just  made 
a  gesture  in  the  tiger's  face." 

"I  suppose  we  shall  communicate  with  one  another.?" 

"If  we  are  in  existence." 

It  was  curious  how  Percy  took  the  lead.  He  had  worn  his 
scarlet  for  about  three  months,  and  his  companion  for 
twelve  years ;  yet  it  was  the  younger  who  dictated  plans  and 
arranged.  He  was  scarcely  conscious  of  its  strangeness, 
however.  Ever  since  the  shocking  news  of  the  morning, 
when  a  new  mine  had  been  sprung  under  the  shaking 
Church,  and  he  had  watched  the  stately  ceremonial,  the 
gorgeous  splendour,  the  dignified,  tranquil  movements  of 
the  Pope  and  his  court,  with  a  secret  that  burned  his  heart 
and  brain — above  all,  since  that  quick  interview  in  which 
old  plans  had  been  reversed  and  a  startling  decision  formed, 


THE  ENCOUNTER  20T 

and  a  blessing  given  and  received,  and  a  farewell  looked 
not  uttered — all  done  in  half-an-hour — his  whole  nature 
had  concentrated  itself  into  one  keen  tense  force,  like  a 
coiled  spring.  He  felt  power  tingling  to  his  finger-tips — 
power  and  the  dulness  of  an  immense  despair.  Every  prop 
had  been  cut,  every  brace  severed ;  he,  the  City  of  Rome, 
the  Catholic  Church,  the  very  supernatural  itself,  seemed 
to  hang  now  on  one  single  thing — the  Finger  of  God.  And 
if  that  failed — well,  nothing  would  ever  matter  any 
more.  ... 

He  was  going  now  to  one  of  two  things — ignominy  or 
death.  There  was  no  third  thing — unless,  indeed,  the  con- 
spirators were  actually  taken  with  their  instruments  upon 
them.  But  that  was  impossible.  Either  they  would  re- 
frain, knowing  that  God's  ministers  would  fall  with  them, 
and  in  that  case  there  would  be  the  ignominy  of  a  detected 
fraud,  of  a  miserable  attempt  to  win  credit.  Or  they  would 
not  refrain ;  they  would  count  the  death  of  a  Cardinal  and 
a  few  bishops  a  cheap  price  to  pay  for  revenge — and  in 
that  case — well,  there  was  Death  and  Judgment.  But 
Percy  had  ceased  to  fear.  No  ignominy  could  be  greater 
than  that  which  he  already  bore — the  ignominy  of  loneli- 
ness and  discredit.  And  death  could  be  nothing  but  sweet — 
it  would  at  least  be  knowledge  and  rest.  He  was  willing 
to  risk  all  on  God. 

The  other,  with  a  little  gesture  of  apology,  took  out  his 
office  book  presently,  and  began  to  read. 

Percy  looked  at  him  with  an  immense  envy.  Ah !  if  only 
he  were  as  old  as  that !  He  could  bear  a  year  or  two  more  of 
this  misery,  but  not  fifty  years,  he  thought.  It  was  an  almost 
endless  vista  that  (even  if  things  went  well)  opened  before 


S08  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

him,  of  continual  strife,  self -repression,  energy,  misrepre- 
sentation from  his  enemies.  The  Church  was  sinking  fur- 
ther every  day.  What  if  this  new  spasm  of  fervour  were 
no  more  than  the  dying  flare  of  faith?  How  could  he  bear 
that.''  He  would  have  to  see  the  tide  of  atheism  rise  higher 
and  more  triumphant  every  day ;  Felsenburgh  had  given 
it  an  impetus  of  whose  end  there  was  no  prophesying. 
Never  before  had  a  single  man  wielded  tlie  full  power  of 
democracy.  Then  once  more  he  looked  forward  to  the 
morrow.  Oh!  if  it  could  but  end  in  death!  .  .  .  Beati 
mortui  qui  in  Domino  moriuntur!  .   .   . 

It  was  no  good ;  it  was  cowardly  to  think  in  this  f  asliion. 
After  all,  God  was  God — He  takes  up  tlie  isles  as  a  very 
little  thing. 

Percy  took  out  his  office  book,  found  Prime  and  St.  Syl- 
vester, signed  himself  with  the  cross,  and  began  to  pray. 
A  minute  later  the  two  chaplains  slipped  in  once  more, 
and  sat  down ;  and  all  was  silent,  save  for  that  throb  of  the 
screw,  and  the  strange  whispering  rush  of  air  outside. 


Ill 


It  was  about  nineteen  o'clock  that  the  ruddy  English 
conductor  looked  in  at  the  doorway,  waking  Percy  from 
his  doze. 

"Dinner  will  be  served  in  half-an-hour,  gentlemen,"  he 
said  (speaking  Esperanto,  as  the  rule  was  on  international 
cars).     "We  do  not  stop  at  Turin  to-night." 

He  shut  the  door  and  went  out,  and  the  sound  of  closing 


THE  ENCOUNTER  209 

doors  came  down  the  corridor  as  he  made  the  same  an- 
nouncement to  each  coinj)artincnt. 

There  were  no  passengers  to  descend  at  Turin,  then,  re- 
flected Percy ;  and  no  doubt  a  wireless  message  had  been 
received  that  there  were  none  to  come  on  board  either. 
That  was  good  news :  it  would  give  him  more  time  in  Lon- 
don. It  might  even  enable  Cardinal  Steinmann  to  catch 
an  earlier  volor  from  Paris  to  Berlin ;  but  he  was  not  sure 
how  they  ran.  It  was  a  pity  that  the  German  had  not  been 
able  to  catch  the  thirteen  o'clock  from  Rome  to  Berlin  di- 
rect.    So  he  calculated,  in  a  kind  of  superficial  insensibility. 

He  stood  up  presently  to  stretch  himself.  Then  he  passed 
out  and  along  the  corridor  to  the  lavatory  to  wash  his 
hands. 

He  became  fascinated  by  the  view  as  he  stood  before 
the  basin  at  the  rear  of  the  car,  for  even  now  they  were 
passing  over  Turin.  It  was  a  blur  of  light,  vivid  and  beau- 
tiful, that  shone  beneath  him  in  the  midst  of  this  gulf  of 
darkness,  sweeping  away  southwards  into  the  gloom  as  the 
car  sped  on  towards  the  Alps.  How  little,  he  thought,  seemed 
this  great  city  seen  from  above ;  and  yet,  how  mighty  it 
was !  It  was  from  that  glimmer,  already  five  miles  behind, 
that  Italy  was  controlled ;  in  one  of  these  dolls'  houses  of 
which  he  had  caught  but  a  glimpse,  men  sat  in  council 
over  souls  and  bodies,  and  abolished  God,  and  smiled  at  His 
Church.  And  God  allowed  it  all,  and  made  no  sign.  It 
was  there  that  Felsenburgh  had  been,  a  month  or  two  ago — 
Felsenburgh,  his  double !  And  again  the  mental  sword  tore 
and  stabbed  at  his  heart. 

A  few  minutes  later,  the  four  ecclesiastics  were  sitting 


210  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

at  their  round  table  in  a  little  screened  compartment  of 
the  dining-room  in  the  bows  of  the  air-ship.  It  was  an 
excellent  dinner,  served,  as  usual,  from  the  kitchen  in  the 
bowels  of  the  volor,  and  rose,  course  by  course,  with  a 
smooth  click,  into  the  centre  of  the  table.  There  was  a 
bottle  of  red  wine  to  each  diner,  and  both  table  and  chairs 
swung  easily  to  the  very  slight  motion  of  the  ship.  But 
they  did  not  talk  much,  for  there  was  only  one  subject  pos- 
sible to  the  two  cardinals,  and  the  chaplains  had  not  yet 
been  admitted  into  the  full  secret. 

It  was  growing  cold  now,  and  even  the  hot-air  foot-rests 
did  not  quite  compensate  for  the  deathly  iciness  of  the 
breath  that  began  to  stream  down  from  the  Alps,  which 
the  ship  was  now  approaching  at  a  slight  incline.  It  was 
necessary  to  rise  at  least  nine  thousand  feet  from  the  usual 
level,  in  order  to  pass  the  frontier  of  the  Mont  Cenis  at  a 
safe  angle;  and  at  the  same  time  it  was  necessary  to  go  a 
little  slower  over  the  Alps  themselves,  owing  to  the  extreme 
rarity  of  the  air,  and  the  difficulty  in  causing  the  screw  to 
revolve  sufficiently  quickly  to  counteract  it. 

"There  will  be  clouds  to-night,"  said  a  voice  clear  and 
distinct  from  the  passage,  as  the  door  swung  slightly  to 
a  movement  of  the  car. 

Percy  got  up  and  closed  it. 

The  German  Cardinal  began  to  grow  a  little  fidgety 
towards  the  end  of  dinner. 

"I  shall  go  back,"  he  said  at  last.  "I  shall  be  better  in 
my  fur  rug." 

His  chaplain  dutifully  went  after  him,  leaving  his  own 
dinner  unfinished,  and  Percy  was  left  alone  with  Father 
Corkran,  his  English  chaplain  lately  from  Scotland. 


THE  ENCOUNTER  211 

He  finished  his  wine,  ate  a  couple  of  figs,  and  then  sat 
staring  out  through  the  plate-glass  window  in  front. 

"Ah !"  he  said.  "Excuse  me,  father.  There  are  the  Alps 
at  last." 

The  front  of  the  car  consisted  of  three  divisions,  in  the 
centre  of  one  of  which  stood  the  steersman,  his  eyes  look- 
ing straight  ahead,  and  his  hands  upon  the  wheel.  On 
either  side  of  him,  separated  from  him  by  aluminium  walls, 
was  contrived  a  narrow  slip  of  a  compartment,  with  a  long 
curved  window  at  the  height  of  a  man's  eyes,  through  which 
a  magnificent  view  could  be  obtained.  It  was  to  one  of 
these  that  Percy  went,  passing  along  the  corridor,  and 
seeing  through  half-opened  doors  other  parties  still  over 
their  wine.  He  pushed  the  spring  door  on  the  left  and  went 
through. 

He  had  crossed  the  Alps  three  times  before  in  his  life,  and 
well  remembered  the  extraordinary  effect  they  had  had  on 
him,  especially  as  he  had  once  seen  them  from  a  great  alti- 
tude upon  a  clear  day — an  eternal,  immeasurable  sea  of 
white  ice,  broken  by  hummocks  and  wrinkles  that  from  be- 
low were  soaring  peaks  named  and  reverenced;  and,  be- 
yond, the  spherical  curve  of  the  earth's  edge  that  dropped 
in  a  haze  of  air  into  unutterable  space.  But  this  time  they 
seemed  more  amazing  than  ever,  and  he  looked  out  on  them 
with  the  interest  of  a  sick  child. 

The  car  was  now  ascending  rapidly  towards  the  pass  up 
across  the  huge  tumbled  slopes,  ravines,  and  cliffs  that  lie 
like  outworks  of  the  enormous  wall.  Seen  from  this  great 
height  they  were  in  themselves  comparatively  insignificant, 
but  they  at  least  suggested  the  vastness  of  the  bastions  of 
which   they   were   no    more    than   buttresses.      As    Percy 


212  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

turned,  he  could  see  the  moonless  sky  alight  with  frosty 
stars,  and  the  dimness  of  the  illumination  made  the  scene 
even  more  impressive;  but  as  he  turned  again,  there  was  a 
change.  The  vast  air  about  him  seemed  now  to  be  per- 
ceived through  frosted  glass.  The  velvet  blackness  of  the 
pine  forests  had  faded  to  heavy  grey,  the  pale  glint  of 
water  and  ice  seen  and  gone  again  in  a  moment,  the  mon- 
strous nakedness  of  rock  spires  and  slopes,  rising  towards 
him  and  sliding  away  again  beneath  with  a  crawling  mo- 
tion— all  these  had  lost  their  distinctness  of  outline,  and 
were  veiled  in  invisible  white.  As  he  looked  3'et  higher  to 
right  and  left  the  sight  became  terrifying,  for  the  giant 
walls  of  rock  rushing  towards  him,  the  huge  grotesque 
shapes  towering  on  all  sides,  ran  upward  into  a  curtain 
of  cloud  visible  only  from  the  dancing  radiance  thrown 
upon  it  by  the  brilliantly  lighted  car.  Even  as  he  looked, 
two  straight  fingers  of  splendour,  resembling  horns,  shot 
out,  as  the  bow  searchlights  were  turned  on ;  and  the  car 
itself,  already  travelling  at  half-speed,  dropped  to  quarter- 
speed,  and  began  to  sway  softly  from  side  to  side  as  the 
huge  air-planes  beat  the  mist  through  whicli  they  moved, 
and  the  antenna?  of  light  pierced  it.  Still  up  they  went, 
and  on — yet  swift  enough  to  let  Percy  see  one  great  pin- 
nacle rear  itself,  elongate,  sink  down  into  a  cruel  needle, 
and  vanish  into  nothingness  a  thousand  feet  below.  The 
motion  grew  j'et  more  nauseous,  as  the  car  moved  up  at 
a  sharp  angle  preserving  its  level,  simultaneously  rising, 
advancing  and  swaying.  Once,  hoarse  and  sonorous,  an 
unfrozen  torrent  roared  like  a  beast,  it  seemed  within  twenty 
yards,  and  was  duinb  again  on  the  instant.  Now,  too,  the 
horns   began  to   cry,   long,   lamentable   hootings,   ringing 


THE  ENCOUNTER  213 

sadly  in  that  echoing  desolation  like  the  wail  of  wander- 
ing souls ;  and  as  Percy,  awed  beyond  feeling,  wiped  the 
gathering  moisture  from  the  glass,  and  stared  again,  it 
appeared  as  if  he  floated  now,  motionless  except  for  the 
slight  rocking  beneath  his  feet,  in  a  world  of  whiteness,  as 
remote  from  earth  as  from  heaven,  poised  in  hopeless  in- 
finite space,  blind,  alone,  frozen,  lost  in  a  white  hell  of  deso- 
lation. 

Once,  as  he  stared,  a  huge  whiteness  moved  towards  him 
through  the  veil,  slid  slowly  sideways  and  down,  disclosing, 
as  the  car  veered,  a  gigantic  slope  smooth  as  oil,  with  one 
cluster  of  black  rock  cutting  it  like  the  fingers  of  a  man's 
hand  groping  from  a  mountainous  wave. 

Then,  as  once  more  the  car  cried  aloud  like  a  lost  sheep, 
there  answered  it,  it  seemed  scarcely  ten  yards  away,  first 
one  windy  scream  of  dismay,  another  and  another;  a  clang 
of  bells,  a  chorus  broke  out ;  and  the  air  was  full  of  the 
beating  of  wings. 


IV 


There  was  one  horrible  instant  before  a  clang  of  a  bell, 
the  answering  scream,  and  a  whirling  motion  showed  that 
the  steersman  was  alert.  Then  like  a  stone  the  car  dropped, 
and  Percy  clutched  at  the  rail  before  him  to  steady  the  ter- 
rible sensation  of  falling  into  emptiness.  He  could  hear 
behind  him  the  crasli  of  crockery,  the  bumping  of  heavy 
bodies,  and  as  the  car  again  checked  on  its  wide  wings,  a 
rush  of  footsteps  broke  out  and  a  cry  or  two  of  dismaj'. 
Outside,  but  high  and  far  awa},  the  hooting  went  on ;  the 
air  was  full  of  it,  and  in  a  flash  he  recognised  that  it  could 


214  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

not  be  one  or  ten  or  twenty  cars,  but  at  least  a  hundred  that 
had  answered  the  call,  and  that  somewhere  overhead  were 
hooting  and  flapping.  The  invisible  ravines  and  cliffs  on 
all  sides  took  up  the  crying ;  long  wails  whooped  and 
moaned  and  died  amid  a  clash  of  bells,  further  and  fur- 
ther every  instant,  but  now  in  every  direction,  behind, 
above,  in  front,  and  far  to  right  and  left.  Once  more  the 
car  began  to  move,  sinking  in  a  long  still  curve  towards 
the  face  of  the  mountain ;  and  as  it  checked,  and  began 
to  sway  again  on  its  huge  wings,  he  turned  to  the  door, 
seeing  as  he  did  so,  through  the  cloudy  windows  in  the 
glow  of  light,  a  spire  of  rock  not  thirty  feet  below  rising 
from  the  mist,  and  one  smooth  shoulder  of  snow  curving 
away  into  invisibility. 

Within,  the  car  shewed  brutal  signs  of  the  sudden  check: 
the  doors  of  the  dining  compartments,  as  he  passed  along, 
were  flung  wide ;  glasses,  plates,  pools  of  wine  and  tumbled 
fruit  rolled  to  and  fro  on  the  heaving  floors ;  one  man,  sit- 
ting helplessly  on  the  ground,  rolled  vacant,  terrified  eyes 
upon  the  priest.  He  glanced  in  at  the  door  through  which 
he  had  come  just  now,  and  Father  Corkran  staggered  up 
from  his  seat  and  came  towards  him,  reeling  at  tlie  motion 
underfoot ;  simultaneously  there  was  a  rush  from  the  op- 
posite door,  where  a  party  of  Americans  had  been  dining; 
and  as  Percy,  beckoning  with  his  head,  turned  again  to 
go  down  to  the  stern-end  of  the  ship,  he  found  the  narrow 
passage  blocked  with  the  crowd  that  had  run  out.  A 
babble  of  talking  and  cries  made  questions  impossible ;  and 
Percy,  with  his  chaplain  behind  him,  gripped  the  alumin- 
ium panelling,  and  step  by  step  began  to  make  his  way  in 
search  of  his  friends. 


THE  ENCOUNTER  215 

Half-way  down  the  passage,  as  he  pushed  and  struggled, 
a  voice  made  itself  heard  above  the  din ;  and  in  the  momen- 
tary silence  that  followed,  again  sounded  the  far-away  cry- 
ing of  the  volors  overhead. 

"Seats,  gentlemen,  seats,"  roared  the  voice.  "We  are 
moving  immediately," 

Then  the  crowd  melted  as  the  conductor  came  through, 
red-faced  and  determined,  and  Percy,  springing  into  his 
wake,  found  his  way  clear  to  the  stern. 

The  Cardinal  seemed  none  the  worse.  He  had  been  asleep, 
he  explained,  and  saved  himself  in  time  from  rolling  on 
to  the  floor;  but  his  old  face  twitched  as  he  talked. 

"But  what  is  it.?"  he  said.    "What  is  the  meaning?" 

Father  Bechlin  related  how  he  had  actually  seen  one  of 
the  troop  of  volors  within  five  yards  of  the  window ;  it  was 
crowded  with  faces,  he  said,  from  stem  to  stern.  Then  it 
had  soared  suddenly,  and  vanished  in  whorls  of  mist. 

Percy  shook  his  head,  saying  nothing.  He  had  no  ex- 
planation. 

"They  are  inquiring,  I  understand,"  said  Father  Bechlin 
again.     "The  conductor  was  at  his  instrument  just  now." 

There  was  nothing  to  be  seen  from  the  windows  now. 
Only,  as  Percy  stared  out,  still  dazed  with  the  shock,  he 
saw  the  cruel  needle  of  rock  wavering  beneath  as  if  seen 
through  water,  and  the  huge  shoulder  of  snow  swaj'^ing 
softly  up  and  down.  It  was  quieter  outside.  It  appeared 
that  the  flock  had  passed,  only  somewhere  from  an  infinite 
height  still  sounded  a  fitful  wailing,  as  if  a  lonely  bird  were 
wandering,  lost  in  space. 

**That  is  the  signalling  volor,"  murmured  Percy  to  him- 
self. 


216  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

He  had  no  theory — no  suggestion.  Yet  the  matter 
seemed  an  ominous  one.  It  was  unheard  of  that  an  en- 
counter with  a  hundred  volors  should  take  place,  and  he 
wondered  why  they  were  going  southwards.  Again  the 
name  of  Felsenburgh  came  to  his  mind.  What  if  that  sinis- 
ter man  were  still  somewhere  overhead  ? 

"Eminence,"  began  the  old  man  again.  But  at  that  in- 
stant the  car  began  to  move. 

A  bell  clanged,  a  vibration  tingled  underfoot,  and  then, 
soft  as  a  flake  of  snow,  the  great  ship  began  to  rise,  its 
movement  perceptible  only  by  the  sudden  drop  and  vanish- 
ing of  the  spire  of  rock  at  which  Percy  still  stared.  Slowly 
the  snowfield  too  began  to  flit  downwards,  a  black  cleft 
whisked  smoothly  into  sight  from  above,  and  disappeared 
again  below,  and  a  moment  later  once  more  the  car  seemed 
poised  in  white  space  as  it  climbed  the  slope  of  air  down 
which  it  had  dropped  just  now.  Again  the  wind-chord 
rent  the  atmosphere ;  and  this  time  the  answer  was  as  faint 
and  distant  as  a  cry  from  another  world.  The  speed 
quickened,  and  the  steady  throb  of  the  screw  began  to  re- 
place the  swaying  motion  of  the  wings.  Again  came  the 
hoot,  wild  and  echoing  through  the  barren  wilderness  of 
rock  walls  beneath,  and  again  with  a  sudden  impulse  the 
car  soared.  It  was  going  in  great  circles  now,  cautious  as 
a  cat,  climbing,  climbing,  punctuating  the  ascent  with  cry 
after  cry,  searching  the  blind  air  for  dangers.  Once  again 
a  vast  white  slope  came  into  sight,  illuminated  by  the  glare 
from  the  windows,  sinking  ever  more  and  more  swiftly,  re- 
ceding and  approaching — until  for  one  instant  a  jagged 
line  of  rocks  grinned  like  teeth  through  the  mist,  dropped 
away  and  vanished,  and  with  a  clash  of  bells,  and  a  last 


THE  ENCOUNTER  217 

scream  of  Avarning,  the  throb  of  the  screw  passed  from  a 
whirr  to  a  rising  note,  and  the  note  to  stillness,  as  the 
huge  ship,  clear  at  last  of  the  frontier  peaks,  shook  out 
her  wings  steady  once  more,  and  set  out  for  her  humming 
flight  through  space.  .  .  .  Whatever  it  was,  was  behind 
them  now,  vanished  into  the  thick  night. 

There  was  a  sound  of  talking  from  the  interior  of  the 
car,  hasty,  breathless  voices,  questioning,  exclaiming,  and 
the  authoritative  terse  answer  of  the  guard.  A  step  came 
along  outside,  and  Percy  sprang  to  meet  it,  but,  as  he  laid 
his  hand  on  the  door,  it  was  pushed  from  without,  and  to 
his  astonishment  the  English  guard  came  straight  through, 
closing  it  behind  him. 

He  stood  there,  looking  strangely  at  the  four  priests,  with 
compressed  lips  and  anxious  eyes. 

"Well?"  cried  Percy. 

"All  right,  gentlemen.  But  I'm  thinking  you'd  better 
descend  at  Paris.  I  know  who  you  are,  gentlemen — and 
though  I'm  not  a  Catholic " 

He  stopped  again. 

"For  God's  sake,  man — "  began  Percy. 

"Oh !  the  news,  gentlemen.  Well,  it  was  two  hundred  cars 
going  to  Rome.  There  is  a  Catholic  plot,  sir,  discovered 
in   London " 

"Well?" 

"To  wipe  out  the  Abbey.     So  they're  going " 

"Ah !" 

"Yes,  sir — to  wipe  out  Rome." 

Then  he  was  gone  again. 


CHAPTER  VII 


It  was  nearly  sixteen  o'clock  on  the  same  day,  the  last  day 
of  the  3'ear,  that  Mabel  went  into  the  little  church  that 
stood  in  the  street  beneath  her  house. 

The  dark  was  falling  softly  layer  on  layer;  across  the 
roofs  to  westward  burned  the  smouldering  fire  of  the  win- 
ter sunset,  and  the  interior  was  full  of  the  dying  light. 

She  had  slept  a  little  in  her  chair  that  afternoon,  and  had 
awakened  with  that  strange  cleansed  sense  of  spirit  and 
mind  that  sometimes  follows  such  sleep.  She  wondered 
later  how  she  could  have  slept  at  such  a  time,  and  above 
all,  how  it  was  that  she  had  perceived  nothing  of  that 
cloud  of  fear  and  fury  that  even  now  was  falling  over 
town  and  country  alike.  She  remembered  afterwards  an 
unusual  busy-ness  on  the  broad  tracks  beneath  her  as  she 
had  looked  out  on  them  from  her  windows,  and  an  unusual 
calling  of  horns  and  whistles ;  but  she  thought  nothing  of 
it,  and  passed  down  an  hour  later  for  a  meditation  in  the 
church. 

She  had  grown  to  love  the  quiet  place,  and  came  in  often 
like  this  to  steady  her  thoughts  and  concentrate  them  on 
the  significance  that  lay  beneath  the  surface  of  life — the 
huge  principles  upon  which  all  lived,  and  which  so  plainly 
were  the  true  realities.  Indeed,  such  devotion  was  becom- 
ing almost  recognised  among  certain  classes  of  people. 
Addresses  were  delivered  now  and  then ;  little  books  were 


THE  ENCOUNTER  219 

being  published  as  guides  to  the  interior  Hfe,  curiously  re- 
sembling the  old  Catholic  books  on  mental  prayer. 

She  went  to-day  to  her  usual  seat,  sat  down,  folded  her 
hands,  looked  for  a  minute  or  two  upon  the  old  stone  sanc- 
tuary, the  white  image  and  the  darkening  window.  Then 
she  closed  her  eyes  and  began  to  think,  according  to  the 
method  she  followed. 

First  she  concentrated  her  attention  on  herself,  detaching 
it  from  all  that  was  merely  external  and  transitory,  with- 
drawing it  inwards  .  .  .  inwards,  until  she  found  that 
secret  spark  which,  beneath  all  frailties  and  activities, 
made  her  a  substantial  member  of  the  divine  race  of  human- 
kind. 

This  tben  was  the  first  step. 

The  second  consisted  in  an  act  of  the  intellect,  followed 
by  one  of  the  imagination.  All  men  possessed  that  spark, 
she  considered.  .  .  .  Then  she  sent  out  her  powers,  sweep- 
ing with  the  eyes  of  her  mind  the  seething  world,  seeing 
beneath  the  light  and  dark  of  the  two  hemispheres,  the 
countless  millions  of  mankind — children  coming  into  the 
world,  old  men  leaving  it,  the  mature  rejoicing  in  it  and 
their  own  strength.  Back  through  the  ages  she  looked, 
through  those  centuries  of  crime  and  blindness,  as  the  race 
rose  through  savagery  and  superstition  to  a  knowledge  of 
themselves ;  on  through  the  ages  yet  to  come,  as  genera- 
tion followed  generation  to  some  climax  whose  perfection, 
she  told  herself,  she  could  not  fully  comprehend  because 
she  was  not  of  it.  Yet,  she  told  herself  again,  that  climax 
had  already  been  born ;  the  birthpangs  were  over ;  for  had 
not  He  come  who  was  the  heir  of  time?  .    .    . 

Then  by  a  third  and  vivid  act  she  realised  the  unity  of  aU, 


220  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

the  central  fire  of  which  each  spark  was  but  a  radiation — 
that  vast  passionless  divine  being,  realising  Himself  up 
through  these  centuries,  one  jet  many,  Him  whom  men  had 
called  God,  now  no  longer  unknown,  but  recognised  as  the 
transcendent  total  of  themselves — Him  who  now,  with  the 
coming  of  the  new  Saviour,  had  stirred  and  awakened  and 
shown  Himself  as  One. 

And  there  she  stayed,  contemplating  the  vision  of  her 
mind,  detaching  now  this  virtue,  now  that  for  particular 
assimilation,  dwelling  on  her  deficiencies,  seeing  in  the  whole 
the  fulfilment  of  all  aspirations,  the  sum  of  all  for  which 
men  had  hoped — that  Spirit  of  Peace,  so  long  hindered  yet 
generated  too  perpetually  by  the  passions  of  the  world, 
forced  Into  outline  and  being  by  the  energy  of  individual 
lives,  realising  itself  in  pulse  after  pulse,  dominant  at  last, 
serene,  manifest,  and  triumphant.  There  she  stayed,  los- 
ing the  sense  of  individuality,  merging  it  by  a  long  sus- 
tained effort  of  the  will,  drinking,  as  she  thought,  long 
breaths  of  the  spirit  of  life  and  love.   .    .    . 

Some  sound,  she  supposed  afterwards,  disturbed  her,  and 
she  opened  her  ej^es ;  and  there  before  her  lay  the  quiet 
pavement,  glimmering  through  the  dusk,  the  step  of  the 
sanctuary,  the  rostrum  on  the  right,  and  the  peaceful 
space  of  darkening  air  above  the  white  Mother-figure  and 
against  the  tracery  of  the  old  window.  It  was  here  that 
men  had  worshipped  Jesus,  that  blood-stained  Man  of  Sor- 
row, who  had  borne,  even  on  His  own  confession,  not  peace 
but  a  sword.  Yet  they  had  knelt,  those  blind  and  hopeless 
Christians.  .  .  .  Ah !  the  pathos  of  it  all,  the  despairing 
acceptance  of  any  creed  that  would  account  for  sorrow, 
the  wild  worship  of  any  God  who  had  claimed  to  bear  it ! 


THE  ENCOUNTER  221 

And  again  came  the  sound,  striking  across  her  peace, 
though  as  jet  she  did  not  understand  why. 

It  was  nearer  now ;  and  she  turned  in  astonishment  to  look 
down  the  dusky  nave. 

It  was  from  without  that  the  sound  had  come,  that  strange 
murmur,  that  rose  and  fell  again  as  she  listened. 

She  stood  up,  her  heart  quickening  a  little — only  once  be- 
fore had  she  heard  such  a  sound,  once  before,  in  a  square, 
where  men  raged  about  a  point  beneath  a  platform.   .    .    . 

She  stepped  swiftly  out  of  her  seat,  passed  down  the 
aisle,  drew  back  the  curtains  beneath  the  west  window, 
lifted  the  latch  and  stepped  out. 

The  street,  from  where  she  looked  over  the  railings  that 
barred  the  entrance  to  the  church,  seemed  unusually  empty 
and  dark.  To  right  and  left  stretched  the  houses,  over- 
head the  darkening  sky  was  flushed  with  rose ;  but  it  seemed 
as  if  the  public  lights  had  been  forgotten.  There  was  not 
a  living  being  to  be  seen. 

She  had  put  her  hand  on  the  latch  of  the  gate,  to  open 
it  and  go  out,  when  a  sudden  patter  of  footsteps  made  her 
hesitate ;  and  the  next  instant  a  child  appeared  panting, 
breathless  and  terrified,  running  with  her  hands  before  her. 

"They're  coming,  they're  coming,"  sobbed  the  child,  see- 
ing the  face  looking  at  her.  Then  she  clung  to  the  bars, 
staring  over  her  shoulder. 

Mabel  lifted  the  latch  in  an  instant;  the  child  sprang  in, 
ran  to  the  door  and  beat  against  it,  then  turning,  seized 
her  dress  and  cowered  against  her.     Mabel  shut  the  gate. 

"There,  there,"  she  said.    "Who  is  it.?    Who  are  coming.'"* 

But  the  child  hid  her  face,  drawing  at  the  kindly  skirts; 


222  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

and    the    next    moment    came    the    roar    of    voices    and 
the  trampling  of  footsteps. 

It  was  not  more  than  a  few  seconds  before  the  heralds 
of  that  grim  procession  came  past.  First  came  a  flying 
squadron  of  children,  laughing,  terrified,  fascinated, 
screaming,  turning  their  heads  as  they  ran,  with  a  dog  or 
two  yelping  among  them,  and  a  few  women  drifting  side- 
ways along  the  pavements.  A  face  of  a  man,  Mabel  saw 
as  she  glanced  in  terror  upwards,  had  appeared  at  the  win- 
dows opposite,  pale  and  eager — some  invalid  no  doubt 
dragging  himself  to  see.  One  group — a  well-dressed  man 
in  grey,  a  couple  of  women  carrying  babies,  a  solemn-faced 
boy — halted  immediately  before  her  on  the  other  side  of  the 
railings,  all  talking,  none  listening,  and  these  too  turned 
their  faces  to  the  road  on  the  left,  up  which  every  instant 
the  clamour  and  trampling  grew.  Yet  she  could  not  ask. 
Her  lips  moved;  but  no  sound  came  from  them.  She  was 
one  incarnate  apprehension.  Across  her  intense  fixity 
moved  pictures  of  no  importance — of  Oliver  as  he  had  been 
at  breakfast,  of  her  own  bedroom  with  its  softened  paper, 
of  the  dark  sanctuary  and  the  white  figure  on  which  she 
had  looked  just  now. 

They  were  coming  thicker  now;  a  troop  of  young  men 
with  their  arms  linked  swayed  into  sight,  all  talking  or 
crying  aloud,  none  listening — all  across  the  roadway,  and 
behind  them  surged  the  crowd,  like  a  wave  in  a  stone-fenced 
channel,  male  scarcely  distinguishable  from  female  in  that 
pack  of  faces,  and  under  that  sky  that  grew  darker  every 
instant.  Except  for  the  noise,  which  Mabel  now  hardly 
noticed,  so  thick  and  incessant  it  was,  so  complete  her  con- 


THE  ENCOUNTER  223 

centration  in  the  sense  of  sight — except  for  that,  it  might 
have  been,  from  its  suddenness  and  overwhelming  force, 
some  mob  of  phantoms  trooping  on  a  sudden  out  of  some 
vista  of  the  spiritual  world  visible  across  an  open  space, 
and  about  to  vanish  again  in  obscurity.  That  empty  street 
was  full  now  on  this  side  and  that  so  far  as  she  could  see ; 
the  young  men  were  gone — running  or  walking  she  hardly 
knew — round  the  corner  to  the  right,  and  the  entire  space 
was  one  stream  of  heads  and  faces,  pressing  so  fiercely  that 
the  group  at  the  railings  were  detached  like  weeds  and 
drifted  too,  sideways,  clutching  at  the  bars,  and  swept  away 
too  and  vanished.  And  all  the  while  the  child  tugged  and 
tore  at  her  skirts. 

Certain  things  began  to  appear  now  above  the  heads  of 
the  crowd — objects  she  could  not  distinguish  in  the  failing 
light — poles,  and  fantastic  shapes,  fragments  of  stuff  re- 
sembling banners,  moving  as  if  alive,  turning  from  side  to 
side,  borne  from  beneath. 

Faces,  distorted  with  passion,  looked  at  her  from  time 
to  time  as  the  moving  show  went  past,  open  mouths  cried  at 
her;  but  she  hardly  saw  them.  She  was  watching  those 
strange  emblems,  straining  her  eyes  through  the  dusk, 
striving  to  distinguish  the  battered  broken  shapes,  half- 
guessing,  yet  afraid  to  guess. 

Then,  on  a  sudden,  from  the  hidden  lamps  beneath  the 
eaves,  light  leaped  into  being — that  strong,  sweet,  familiar 
light,  generated  by  the  great  engines  underground  that,  in 
the  passion  of  that  catastrophic  day,  all  men  had  forgot- 
ten ;  and  in  a  moment  all  changed  from  a  mob  of  phantoms 
and  shapes  into  a  pitiless  reality  of  life  and  death. 

Before  her  moved  a  great  rood,  with  a  figure  upon  it, 


224  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

of  which  one  arm  hung  from  the  nailed  hand,  swinging  as 
it  went;  an  embroidery  streamed  behind  with  the  swiftness 
of  the  motion. 

And  next  after  it  came  the  naked  body  of  a  child,  impaled, 
white  and  ruddy,  the  head  fallen  upon  the  breast,  and  the 
arms,  too,  dangling  and  turning. 

And  next  the  figure  of  a  man,  hanging  by  the  neck, 
dressed,  it  seemed,  in  a  kind  of  black  gown  and  cape,  with 
its  black-capped  head  twisting  from  the  twisting  rope. 


II 


The  same  night  Oliver  Brand  came  home  about  an  hour 
before  midnight. 

For  himself,  what  he  had  heard  and  seen  that  day  was 
still  too  vivid  and  too  imminent  for  him  to  judge  of  it 
coolly.  He  had  seen,  from  his  windows  in  Whitehall, 
Parliament  Square  filled  with  a  mob  the  like  of  which  had 
not  been  known  in  England  since  the  days  of  Christianity 
■ — a  mob  full  of  a  fury  that  could  scarcely  draw  its  origin 
except  from  sources  beyond  the  reach  of  sense.  Thrice  dur- 
ing the  hours  that  followed  the  publication  of  the  Catholic 
plot  and  the  outbreak  of  mob-law  he  had  communicated 
with  the  Prime  Minister  asking  whether  nothing  could  be 
done  to  allay  the  tumult ;  and  on  both  occasions  he  had  re- 
ceived the  doubtful  answer  that  what  could  be  done  would 
be  done,  that  force  was  inadmissible  at  present ;  but  that 
the  police  were  doing  all  that  was  possible. 

As  regarded  the  despatch  of  the  volors  to  Rome,  he  had 


THE  ENCOUNTER  225 

assented  by  silence,  as  had  the  rest  of  the  Council.  That 
was,  Snowford  had  said,  a  judicial  punitive  act,  regret- 
table but  necessary.  Peace,  in  this  instance,  could  not  be 
secured  except  on  terms  of  war — or  rather,  since  war  was 
obsolete — by  the  sternness  of  justice.  These  Catholics 
had  shown  themselves  the  avowed  enemies  of  society ;  very 
well,  then  society  must  defend  itself,  at  least  this  once. 
Man  was  still  human.  And  Oliver  had  listened  and  said 
nothing. 

As  he  passed  in  one  of  the  Government  volors  over  Lon- 
don on  his  way  home,  he  had  caught  more  than  one  glimpse 
of  what  was  proceeding  beneath  him.  The  streets  were  as 
bright  as  day,  shadowless  and  clear  in  the  white  light,  and 
every  roadway  was  a  crawling  serpent.  From  beneath  rose 
up  a  steady  roar  of  voices,  soft  and  woolly,  punctuated  by 
cries.  From  here  and  there  ascended  the  smoke  of  burning ; 
and  once,  as  he  flitted  over  one  of  the  great  squares  to  the 
south  of  Battersea,  he  had  seen  as  it  were  a  scattered 
squadron  of  ants  running  as  if  in  fear  or  pursuit.  .  .  . 
He  knew  what  was  happening.  .  .  .  Well,  after  all,  man 
was  not  yet  perfectly  civilised. 

He  did  not  like  to  think  of  what  awaited  him  at  home. 
Once,  about  five  hours  earlier,  he  had  listened  to  his  wife's 
voice  through  the  telephone,  and  what  he  had  heard  had 
nearly  caused  him  to  leave  all  and  go  to  her.  Yet  he  was 
scarcely  prepared  for  what  he  found. 

As  he  came  irito  the  sitting-room,  there  was  no  sound,  ex- 
cept that  far-away  hum  from  the  seething  streets  below. 
The  room  seemed  strangely'  dark  and  cold ;  the  only  light 
that  entered  was  through  one  of  the  windows  from  which  the 
curtains  were  withdrawn,  and,  silhouetted  against  the  lumin- 


226  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

ous  sky  beyond,  was  the  upright  figure  of  a  woman,  looking 
and  hstening.  .   .   . 

He  pressed  the  knob  of  the  electric  light;  and  Mabel 
turned  slowly  towards  him.  She  was  in  her  day-dress,  with 
a  cloak  thrown  over  her  shoulders,  and  her  face  was  almost 
as  that  of  a  stranger.  It  was  perfectly  colourless,  her  lips 
were  compressed  and  her  eyes  full  of  an  emotion  which  he 
could  not  interpret.  It  might  equally  have  been  anger, 
terror  or  misery. 

She  stood  there  in  the  steady  light,  motionless,  looking  at 
him. 

For  a  moment  he  did  not  trust  himself  to  speak.  He 
passed  across  to  the  window,  closed  it  and  drew  the  cur- 
tains.    Then  he  took  that  rigid  figure  gently  by  the  arm. 

"Mabel,"  he  said,  "Mabel." 

She  submitted  to  be  drawn  towards  the  sofa,  but  there  was 
no  response  to  his  touch.  He  sat  down  and  looked  up  at 
her  with  a  kind  of  despairing  apprehension. 

"My  dear,  I  am  tired  out,"  he  said. 

Still  she  looked  at  him.  There  was  in  her  pose  that  rigid- 
ity that  actors  simulate ;  yet  he  knew  it  for  the  real  thing. 
He  had  seen  that  silence  once  or  twice  before  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  horror — once  at  any  rate,  at  the  sight  of  a  splash 
of  blood  on  her  shoe. 

"Well,  my  darling,  sit  down,  at  least,"  he  said. 

She  obeyed  him  mechanically — sat,  and  still  stared  at  him. 
In  the  silence  once  more  that  soft  roar  rose  and  died  from 
the  invisible  world  of  tumult  outside  the  windows.  Within 
here  all  was  quiet.  He  knew  perfectly  that  two  things 
strove  within  her,  her  loyalty  to  her  faith  and  her  hatred  of 
those  crimes  in  the  name  of  justice.     As  he  looked  on  her 


THE  ENCOUNTER  227 

he  saw  that  these  two  were  at  death  grips,  that  hatred  was 
prevailing,  and  that  she  herself  was  little  more  than  a  pas- 
sive battlefield.  Then,  as  with  a  long-drawn  howl  of  a 
wolf,  there  surged  and  sank  the  voices  of  the  mob  a  mile 
away,  the  tension  broke.  .  .  .  She  threw  herself  forward 
towards  him,  he  caught  her  by  the  wrists,  and  so  she  rested, 
clasped  in  his  arms,  her  face  and  bosom  on  his  knees,  and 
her  whole  body  torn  by  emotion. 

For  a  full  minute  neither  spoke.  Oliver  understood  well 
enough,  yet  at  present  he  had  no  words.  He  only  drew  her 
a  little  closer  to  himself,  kissed  her  hair  two  or  three  times, 
and  settled  himself  to  hold  her.  He  began  to  rehearse  what 
he  must  say  presently. 

Then  she  raised  her  flushed  face  for  an  instant,  looked 
at  him  passionately,  dropped  her  head  again  and  began  to 
sob  out  broken  words. 

He  could  only  catch  a  sentence  here  and  there,  yet  he 
knew  what  she  was  saying.  .   .    . 

It  was  the  ruin  of  all  her  hopes,  she  sobbed,  the  end  of  her 
religion.  Let  her  die,  die  and  have  done  with  it!  It  was 
all  gone,  gone,  swept  away  in  this  murderous  passion  of 
the  people  of  her  faith  .  .  .  they  were  no  better  than 
Christians,  after  all,  as  fierce  as  the  men  on  whom  they 
avenged  themselves,  as  dark  as  though  the  Saviour,  Julian, 
had  never  come ;  it  was  all  lost  .  .  .  War  and  Passion  and 
Murder  had  returned  to  the  body  from  which  she  had 
thought  them  gone  forever.  .  .  .  The  burning  churches, 
the  hunted  Catholics,  the  raging  of  the  streets  on  which 
she  had  looked  that  day,  the  bodies  of  the  child  and  the 
priest  carried  on  poles,  the  burning  churches  and  convents. 
.    .    .  All  streamed  out,  incoherent,  broken  by  sobs,  details 


228  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

of  horror,  lamentations,  reproaches,  interpreted  by  the 
writhing  of  her  head  and  hands  upon  his  knees.  The  col- 
lapse was  complete. 

He  put  his  hands  again  beneath  her  arms  and  raised  her. 
He  was  worn  out  by  his  work,  yet  he  knew  he  must  quiet 
her.  This  was  more  serious  than  any  previous  crisis.  Yet 
he  knew  her  power  of  recovery. 

"Sit  down,  my  darling,"  he  said.  "There  .  .  .  give  me 
your  hands.     Now  listen  to  me." 

He  made  really  an  admirable  defence,  for  it  was  what  he 
had  been  repeating  to  himself  all  day. 

Men  were  not  yet  perfect,  he  said ;  there  ran  in  their  veins 
the  blood  of  men  who  for  twenty  centuries  had  been  Chris- 
tians. .  .  .  There  must  be  no  despair;  faith  in  man  was 
of  the  very  essence  of  religion,  faith  in  man's  best  self,  in 
what  he  would  become,  not  in  what  at  present  he  actually 
was.  They  were  at  the  beginning  of  the  new  religion,  not 
in  its  maturit}"^ ;  there  must  be  sourness  in  the  young  fruit. 
.  .  .  Consider,  too,  the  provocation !  Remember  the  ap- 
palling crime  that  these  Catholics  had  contemplated;  they 
had  set  themselves  to  strike  the  new  Faith  in  its  very 
heart.  .    .   . 

"My  darling,"  he  said,  "men  are  not  changed  in  an  in- 
stant. What  if  those  Christians  had  succeeded !  .  .  .  I 
condemn  it  all  as  strongly  as  you.  I  saw  a  couple  of  news- 
papers this  afternoon  that  are  as  wicked  as  anything  that 
the  Christians  have  over  done.  They  exulted  in  all 
these  crimes.  It  will  throw  the  movement  back  ten 
years.  .  .  .  Do  you  think  that  there  are  not  thousands 
like  yourself  who  hate  and  detest  this  violence.'*  .    .    .  But 


THE  ENCOUNTER  229 

what  does  faith  mean,  except  that  we  know  that  mercy 
will  prevail?  Faith,  patience  and  hope — these  are  our 
weapons." 

He  spoke  with  passionate  conviction,  his  eyes  fixed  on  hers, 
in  a  fierce  endeavour  to  give  her  his  own  confidence,  and  to 
reassure  the  remnants  of  his  own  doubtfulness.  It  was 
true  that  he  too  hated  what  she  hated,  yet  he  saw  things 
that  she  did  not.  .  .  .  Well,  well,  he  told  himself,  he  must 
remember  that  she  was  a  woman. 

The  look  of  frantic  horror  passed  slowly  out  of  her  eyes, 
giving  way  to  acute  misery  as  he  talked,  and  as  his  per- 
sonality once  more  began  to  dominate  her  own.  But  it 
was  not  yet  over. 

"But  the  volors,"  she  cried,  "the  volors !  That  is  de- 
liberate ;  that  is  not  the  work  of  the  mob." 

"My  darling,  it  is  no  more  deliberate  than  the  other.  We 
are  all  human,  we  are  all  immature.  Yes,  the  Council  per- 
mitted it,  .  .  .  permitted  it,  remember.  The  German  Gov- 
ernment, too,  had  to  yield.  We  must  tame  nature  slowly, 
we  must  not  break  it." 

He  talked  again  for  a  few  minutes,  repeating  his  argu- 
ments, soothing,  reassuring,  encouraging ;  and  he  saw  that 
he  was  beginning  to  prevail.  But  she  returned  to  one  of 
his  words. 

"Permitted  it!     And  you  permitted  it." 

"Dear ;  I  said  nothing,  either  for  it  or  against.  I  tell  you 
that  if  we  had  forbidden  it  there  would  have  been  yet  more 
murder,  and  the  people  would  have  lost  their  rulers.  We 
were  passive,  since  we  could  do  nothing." 

"Ah !  but  it  would  have  been  better  to  die.  .  .  .  Oh,  Oliver, 
let  me  die  at  least !    I  cannot  bear  it." 


LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

By  her  hands  which  he  still  held  he  drew  her  nearer  yet 
to  himself. 

"Sweetheart,"  he  said  gravely,  "cannot  you  trust  me  a 
little?  If  I  could  tell  you  all  that  passed  to-day,  you 
would  understand.  But  trust  me  that  I  am  not  heartless. 
And  what  of  Julian  Felsenburgh  ?" 

For  a  moment  he  saw  hesitation  in  her  eyes ;  her  loyalty 
to  him  and  her  loathing  of  all  that  had  happened  strove 
within  her.  Then  once  again  loyalt}'  prevailed,  the  name 
of  Felsenburgh  weighed  down  the  balance,  and  trust  came 
back  with  a  flood  of  tears. 

"Oh,  Oliver,"  she  said,  "I  know  I  trust  you.  But  I  am 
so  weak,  and  all  is  so  terrible.  And  He  so  strong  and  merci- 
ful.   And  will  He  be  with  us  to-morrow.''" 

It  struck  midnight  from  the  clock-tower  a  mile  away  as 
they  yet  sat  and  talked.  She  was  still  tremulous  from  the  strug- 
gle ;  but  she  looked  at  him  smiling,  still  holding  his  hands. 
He  saw  that  the  reaction  was  upon  her  in  full  force  at  last. 

"The  New  Year,  my  husband,"  she  said,  and  rose  as  she 
said  it,  drawing  him  after  her. 

"  I  wish  you  a  happy  New  Year,"  she  said.  "Oh  help  me, 
Oliver." 

She  kissed  him,  and  drew  back,  still  holding  his  hands, 
looking  at  him  with  bright  tearful  eyes. 

"Oliver,"  she  cried  again,  "I  must  tell  you  this.  .  .  .  Do 
you  know  what  I  thought  before  you  came.''" 

He  shook  his  head,  staring  at  her  greedily.  How  sweet 
she  was !     He  felt  her  grip  tighten  on  his  hands. 

"I  thought  I  could  not  bear  it,"  she  whispered — "that  I 
must  end  it  all — ah !  you  know  what  I  mean." 


THE  ENCOUNTER  231 

His  heart  flinched  as  he  heard  her ;  and  he  drew  her  closer 
again  to  himself. 

"It  is  all  over !  it  is  all  over,"  she  cried.  Ah !  do  not  look 
like  that!    I  could  not  tell  you  if  it  was  not." 

As  their  lips  met  again  there  came  the  vibration  of  an 
electric  bell  from  the  next  room,  and  Oliver,  knowing  what 
it  meant,  felt  even  in  that  instant  a  tremor  shake  his  heart. 
He  loosed  her  hands,  and  still  smiled  at  her. 

"The  bell!"  she  said,  with  a  flash  of  apprehension. 

"But  it  is  all  well  between  us  again.'*" 

Her  face  steadied  itself  into  loyalty  and  confidence. 

*'It  is  aU  well,"  she  said;  and  again  the  impatient  bell 
tingled.     "Go,  Oliver ;  I  will  wait  here." 

A  minute  later  he  was  back  again,  with  a  strange  look 
on  his  white  face,  and  his  lips  compressed.  He  came 
straight  up  to  her,  taking  her  once  more  by  the  hands,  and 
looking  steadily  into  her  steady  eyes.  In  the  hearts  of 
both  of  them  resolve  and  faith  were  holding  down  the  emo- 
tion that  was  not  yet  dead.     He  drew  a  long  breath. 

"Yes,"  he  said  in  an  even  voice,  "it  is  over." 

Her  lips  moved ;  and  that  deadly  paleness  lay  on  her 
cheeks.     He  gripped  her  firmly. 

"Listen,"  he  said.  "You  must  face  It.  It  is  over.  Rome 
Is  gone.     Now  we  must  build  something  better." 

She  threw  herself  sobbing  into  his  arms. 


CHAPTER  VIII 


Long  before  dawn  on  the  first  morning  of  the  New  Year 
the  approaches  to  the  Abbey  were  already  blocked.  Vic- 
toria Street,  Great  George  Street,  Whitehall — even  Mill- 
bank  Street  itself  —  were  full  and  motionless.  Broad 
Sanctuary,  divided  by  the  low-walled  motor-track,  was  it- 
self cut  into  great  blocks  and  wedges  of  people  by  the  ways 
which  the  police  kept  open  for  the  passage  of  important 
personages,  and  Palace  Yard  was  kept  rigidly  clear  except 
for  one  island,  occupied  by  a  stand  which  was  itself  full 
from  top  to  bottom  and  end  to  end.  All  roofs  and  para- 
pets ^hich  commanded  a  view  of  the  Abbey  were  also  one 
mass  of  heads.  Overhead,  like  solemn  moons,  burned  t!ie 
white  lights  of  the  electric  globes. 

It  was  not  known  at  exactly  what  hour  the  tumult  had 
steadied  itself  to  definite  purpose,  except  to  a  few  weary 
controllers  of  the  temporary  turnstiles  which  had  been 
erected  the  evening  before.  It  had  been  announced  a  week 
previously  that,  in  consideration  of  the  enormous  demand 
for  seats,  all  persons  who  presented  their  worship-ticket 
at  an  authorised  office,  and  followed  the  directions  issued  by 
the  police,  would  be  accounted  as  having  fulfilled  the  duties 
of  citizenship  in  that  respect,  and  it  was  generally  made 
known  that  it  was  the  Government's  intention  to  toll  the 
great  bell  of  the  Abbey  at  the  beginning  of  the  ceremony 
and  at  the  incensing  of  the  image,  during  which  period 


THE  ENCOUNTER  233 

silence  must  be  as  far  as  possible  preserved  by  all  those 
within  hearing. 

London  had  gone  completely  mad  on  the  announcement 
of  the  Catholic  plot  on  the  afternoon  before.  The  secret 
had  leaked  out  about  fourteen  o'clock,  an  hour  after  the 
betrayal  of  the  scheme  to  Mr.  Snowf ord ;  and  practically 
all  commercial  activities  had  ceased  on  the  instant.  By 
fifteen-and-a-half  all  stores  were  closed,  the  Stock  Exchange, 
the  City  offices,  the  West  End  establishments — all  had  as 
by  irresistible  impulse  suspended  business,  and  from  within 
two  hours  after  noon  until  nearly  midnight,  when  the  police 
had  been  adequately  reinforced  and  enabled  to  deal  with 
the  situation,  whole  mobs  and  armies  of  men,  screaming 
squadrons  of  women,  troops  of  frantic  3'ouths,  had  paraded 
the  streets,  howling,  denouncing,  and  murdering.  It  was 
not  known  how  many  deaths  had  taken  place,  but  there 
was  scarcely  a  street  without  the  signs  of  outrage.  West- 
minster Cathedral  had  been  sacked,  every  altar  overthrown, 
indescribable  indignities  performed  there.  An  unknown 
priest  had  scarcely  been  able  to  consume  the  Blessed  Sacra- 
ment before  he  was  seized  and  throttled ;  the  Archbishop 
with  eleven  priests  and  two  bishops  had  been  hanged  at 
the  north  end  of  the  church,  thirty-five  convents  had  been 
destroyed,  St.  George's  Cathedral  burned  to  the  ground ; 
and  it  was  reported  even,  by  the  evening  papers,  that  it  was 
believed  that,  for  the  first  time  since  the  introduction  of 
Christianity  into  England,  there  was  not  one  Tabernacle 
left  within  twenty  miles  of  the  Abbey.  "London,"  ex- 
plained the  New  People,  in  huge  headlines,  "was  cleansed  at 
last  of  dingy  and  fantastic  nonsense." 

It  was  known  at  about  fifteen-and-a-half  o'clock  that  at 


LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

least  seventy  volors  had  left  for  Rome,  and  half-an-hour 
later  that  Berlin  had  reinforced  them  by  sixty  more.  At 
midnight,  fortunately  at  a  time  when  the  police  had  suc- 
ceeded in  shepherding  the  crowds  into  some  kind  of  order, 
the  news  was  flashed  on  to  cloud  and  placard  alike  that  the 
grim  work  was  done,  and  that  Rome  had  ceased  to  exist. 
The  early  morning  papers  added  a  few  details,  pointing 
out,  of  course,  the  coincidence  of  the  fall  with  the  close  of 
the  year,  relating  how,  by  an  astonishing  chance,  practi- 
cally all  the  heads  of  the  hierarchy  throughout  the  world 
had  been  assembled  in  the  Vatican  which  had  been  the  first 
object  of  attack,  and  how  these,  in  desperation,  it  was  sup- 
posed, had  refused  to  leave  the  City  when  the  news  came 
by  wireless  telegraphy  that  the  punitive  force  was  on  its 
way.  There  was  not  a  building  left  in  Rome;  the  entire 
place.  Leonine  City,  Trastevere,  suburbs — everything  was 
gone ;  for  the  volors,  poised  at  an  immense  height,  had  par- 
celled out  the  City  beneath  them  with  extreme  care,  be- 
fore beginning  to  drop  the  explosives ;  and  five  minutes 
after  the  first  roar  from  beneath  and  the  first  burst  of  smoke 
and  flying  fragments,  the  thing  was  finished.  The  volors 
had  then  dispersed  in  every  direction,  pursuing  the  motor 
and  rail-tracks  along  which  the  population  had  attempted 
to  escape  so  soon  as  the  news  was  known ;  and  it  was  sup- 
posed that  not  less  than  thirty  thousand  belated  fugitives 
had  been  annihilated  by  this  foresight.  It  was  true,  re- 
marked the  Studio,  that  many  treasures  of  incalculable 
value  had  been  destroyed,  but  this  was  a  cheap  price  to  pay 
for  the  final  and  complete  extermination  of  the  Catholic 
pest.  "There  comes  a  point,"  it  remarked,  "when  destruc- 
tion is  the  only  cure  for  a  vermin-infested  house,"  and  it 


THE  ENCOUNTER  286 

proceeded  to  observe  that  now  that  the  Pope  with  the  entire 
College  of  Cardinals,  all  the  ex-Royalties  of  Europe,  all 
the  most  frantic  religionists  from  the  inhabited  world  who 
had  taken  up  their  abode  in  the  "Holy  City"  were  gone  at 
a  stroke,  a  recrudescence  of  the  superstition  was  scarcely  to 
be  feared  elsewhere.  Yet  care  must  even  now  be  taken 
against  any  relenting.  Catholics  (if  any  were  left  bold 
enough  to  attempt  it)  must  no  longer  be  allowed  to  take 
any  kind  of  part  in  the  life  of  any  civilised  country.  So 
far  as  messages  had  come  in  from  other  countries,  there 
was  but  one  chorus  of  approval  at  what  had  been  done. 
A  few  papers  regretted  the  incident,  or  rather  the  spirit 
which  had  lain  behind  it.  It  was  not  seemly,  they  said,  that 
Humanitarians  should  have  recourse  to  violence;  yet  not 
one  pretended  that  anything  could  be  felt  but  thanksgiv- 
ing for  the  general  result.  Ireland,  too,  must  be  brought 
into  line;  they  must  not  dally  any  longer. 

It  was  now  brightening  slowly  towards  dawn,  and  beyond 
the  river  through  the  faint  wintry  haze  a  crimson  streak 
or  two  began  to  burn.  But  all  was  surprisingly  quiet,  for 
this  crowd,  tired  out  with  an  all-night  watch,  chilled  by 
the  bitter  cold,  and  intent  on  what  lay  before  them,  had 
no  energy  left  for  useless  effort.  Only  from  packed  square 
and  street  and  lane  went  up  a  deep,  steady  murmur  like  the 
sound  of  the  sea  a  mile  away,  broken  now  and  again  by  the 
hoot  and  clang  of  a  motor  and  the  rush  of  its  passage  as 
it  tore  eastwards  round  the  circle  through  Broad  Sanc- 
tuary and  vanished  citywards.  And  the  light  broadened 
and  the  electric  globes  sickened  and  paled,  and  the  haze 
began  to  clear  a  little,  showing,  not  the  fresh  blue  that  had 


S36  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

been  hoped  for  from  the  cold  of  the  night,  but  a  high, 
colourless  vault  of  cloud,  washed  with  grey  and  faint  rose- 
colour,  as  the  sun  came  up,  a  ruddy  copper  disc,  beyond  the 
river. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  excitement  rose  a  degree  higher.  The 
police  between  Whitehall  and  the  Abbey,  looking  from 
their  high  platforms  strung  along  the  route,  whence  they 
kept  watch  and  controlled  the  wire  palisadings,  showed  a 
certain  activity,  and  a  minute  later  a  police-ear  whirled 
through  the  square  between  the  palings,  and  vanished  round 
the  Abbey  towers.  The  crowd  murmured  and  shuffled  and 
began  to  expect,  and  a  cheer  was  raised  when  a  moment 
later  four  more  cars  appeared,  bearing  the  Government  in- 
signia, and  disappeared  in  the  same  direction.  These  were 
the  officials,  they  said,  going  to  Dean's  Yard,  where  the 
procession  would  assemble. 

At  about  a  quarter  to  ten  the  crowd  at  the  west  end  of 
Victoria  Street  began  to  raise  its  voice  in  a  song,  and  by 
the  time  that  was  over,  and  the  bells  had  burst  out  from 
the  Abbey  towers,  a  rumour  had  somehow  made  its  entrance 
that  Felsenburgh  was  to  be  present  at  the  ceremony.  There 
was  no  assignable  reason  for  this,  neither  then  nor  after- 
wards ;  in  fact,  the  Evening  Star  declared  that  it  was  one 
more  instance  of  the  astonishing  instinct  of  human  beings 
en  masse;  for  it  was  not  until  an  hour  later  that  even  the 
Government  were  made  aware  of  the  facts.  Yet  the  truth 
remained  that  at  half-past  ten  one  continuous  roar  went 
up,  drowning  even  the  brazen  clamour  of  the  bells,  reach- 
ing round  to  Whitehall  and  the  crowded  pavements  of 
Westminster  Bridge,  demanding  Julian  Felsenburgh.     Yet 


THE  ENCOUNTER  237 

there  had  been  absolutely  no  news  of  the  President  of  Eu- 
rope for  the  last  fortnight,  beyond  an  entirely  unsupported 
report  that  he  was  somewhere  in  the  East. 

And  all  the  while  the  motors  poured  from  all  directions 
towards  the  Abbey  and  disappeared  under  the  arch  into 
Dean's  Yard,  bearing  those  fortunate  persons  whose  tickets 
actually  admitted  them  to  the  church  itself.  Cheers  ran 
and  rippled  along  the  lines  as  the  great  men  were  recog- 
nised— Lord  Pemberton,  Oliver  Brand  and  his  wife,  IMr. 
Caldecott,  Maxwell,  Snowford,  with  the  European  dele- 
gates— even  melancholy-faced  Mr.  Francis  himself,  the 
Government  ceremoniarius,  received  a  greeting.  But  by  a 
quarter  to  eleven,  when  the  pealing  bells  paused,  the  stream 
had  stopped,  the  barriers  issued  out  to  stop  the  roads,  the 
wire  palisadings  vanished,  and  the  crowd  for  an  instant, 
ceasing  its  roaring,  sighed  with  relief  at  the  relaxed  pres- 
sure, and  surged  out  into  the  roadways.  Then  once  more 
the  roaring  began  for  Julian  Felscnburgh. 

The  sun  was  now  high,  still  a  copper  disc,  above  the  Vic- 
toria Tower,  but  paler  than  an  hour  ago ;  the  whiteness  of 
the  Abbey,  the  heavy  greys  of  Parliament  House,  the  ten 
thousand  tints  of  house-roofs,  heads,  streamers,  placards 
began  to  disclose  themselves. 

A  single  bell  tolled  five  minutes  to  the  hour,  and  the 
moments  slipped  by,  until  once  more  the  bell  stopped,  and 
to  the  ears  of  those  within  hearing  of  the  great  west  doors 
came  the  first  blare  of  the  huge  organ,  reinforced  by  trum- 
pets. And  then,  as  sudden  and  profound  as  the  hush  of 
death,  there  fell  an  enormous  silence. 


238  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

II 

As  the  five-minutes  bell  began,  sounding  like  a  continuous 
wind-note  in  the  great  vaults  overhead,  solemn  and  per- 
sistent, Mabel  drew  a  long  breath  and  leaned  back  in  her 
seat  from  the  rigid  position  in  which  for  the  last  half- 
hour  she  had  been  staring  out  at  the  wonderful  sight.  She 
seemed  to  herself  to  have  assimilated  it  at  last,  to  be  herself 
once  more,  to  have  drunk  her  fill  of  the  triumph  and  the 
beauty.  She  was  as  one  who  looks  upon  a  summer  sea  on 
the  morning  after  a  storm.  And  now  the  climax  was  at 
hand. 

From  end  to  end  and  side  to  side  the  interior  of  the 
Abbey  presented  a  great  broken  mosaic  of  human  faces ; 
living  slopes,  walls,  sections  and  curves.  The  south  tran- 
sept directly  opposite  to  her,  from  pavement  to  rose  win- 
dow, was  one  sheet  of  heads ;  the  floor  was  paved  with  them, 
cut  in  two  by  the  scarlet  of  the  gangway  leading  from  the 
chapel  of  St.  Faith — on  the  right,  the  choir  beyond  the 
open  space  before  the  sanctuary  was  a  mass  of  white  fig- 
ures, scarved  and  surpliced ;  the  high  organ  gallery,  beneath 
which  the  screen  had  been  removed,  Avas  crowded  with  them, 
and,  far  down  beneath,  the  dim  nave  stretched  the  same  end- 
less pale  living  pavement  to  the  shadow  beneath  the  west 
window.  Between  every  group  of  columns  behind  the 
choir-stalls,  before  her,  to  right,  left,  and  behind,  were  plat- 
forms contrived  in  the  masonry ;  and  the  exquisite  roof, 
fan-tracery  and  soaring  capital,  alone  gave  the  eye  an 
escape  from  humanity.  The  whole  vast  space  was  full,  it 
seemed,  of  delicate  sunlight  that  streamed  in  from  the  arti- 
ficial light  set  outside  each  window,  and  poured  the  ruby 


THE  ENCOUNTER  259 

and  the  purple  and  the  blue  from  the  old  glass  in  long 
shafts  of  colour  across  the  dust}'  air,  and  in  broken  patches 
on  the  faces  and  dresses  behind.  The  murmur  of  ten  thou- 
sand voices  filled  the  place,  supplying,  it  seemed,  a  solemn 
accompaniment  to  that  melodious  note  that  now  pulsed 
above  it.  And  finally,  more  significant  than  all,  was  the 
empty  carpeted  sanctuary  at  her  feet,  the  enormous  altar 
with  its  flight  of  steps,  the  gorgeous  curtain  and  the  great 
untenanted  sedilia. 

Mabel  needed  some  such  reassurance,  for  last  night,  un- 
til the  coming  of  Oliver,  had  passed  for  her  as  a  kind  of 
appalling  waking  dream.  From  the  first  shock  of  what 
she  had  seen  outside  the  church,  through  those  hours  of 
waiting,  with  the  knowledge  that  this  was  the  way  in  which 
the  Spirit  of  Peace  asserted  its  superiority,  up  to  that  last 
moment  when,  in  her  husband's  arms,  she  had  learned  of  the 
Fall  of  Rome,  it  had  appeared  to  her  as  if  her  new  world 
had  suddenly  corrupted  about  her.  It  was  incredible,  she 
told  herself,  that  this  ravening  monster,  dripping  blood 
from  claws  and  teeth,  that  had  arisen  roaring  in  the  night, 
could  be  the  Humanity  that  had  become  her  God.  She  had 
thought  revenge  and  cruelty  and  slaughter  to  be  the  brood 
of  Christian  superstition,  dead  and  buried  under  the  new- 
bom  angel  of  light,  and  now  it  seemed  that  the  monsters 
yet  stirred  and  lived.  All  the  evening  she  had  sat,  walked, 
lain  about  her  quiet  house  with  the  horror  heavy  about  her, 
flinging  open  a  window  now  and  again  in  the  icy  air  to 
listen  with  clenched  hands  to  the  cries  and  the  roarings  of 
the  mob  that  raged  in  the  streets  beneath,  the  clanks,  the 
yells  and  the  hoots  of  the  motor-trains  that  tore  up  from 


no  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

the  country  to  swell  the  frenzy  of  the  city — to  watch  the 
red  glow  of  fire,  the  volumes  of  smoke  that  heaved  up  from 
the  burning  chapels  and  convents. 

She  had  questioned,  doubted,  resisted  her  doubts,  flung 
out  frantic  acts  of  faith,  attempted  to  renew  the  confidence 
that  she  attained  in  her  meditation,  told  herself  that  tradi- 
tions died  slowly ;  she  had  knelt,  crying  out  to  the  spirit  of 
peace  that  lay,  as  she  knew  so  well,  at  the  heart  of  man, 
though  overwhelmed  for  the  moment  by  evil  passion.  A 
line  or  two  ran  in  her  head  from  one  of  the  old  Victorian 
poets : 

You  doubt 

If  any  one 
Could  think  or  bid  it.'' 
How  could  it  come  about.''   ... 
Who  did  it.? 
Not  men  !     Not  here ! 
Oh  !  not  beneath  the  sun.  .   .   . 

.    .    .   The  torch  that  smouldered  till  the  cup  o'er-ran 
The  wrath  of  God  which  is  the  wrath  of  Man ! 

She  had  even  contemplated  death,  as  she  had  told  her 
husband — the  taking  of  her  own  life,  in  a  great  despair 
with  the  world.  Seriously  she  had  thought  of  it ;  it  was  an 
escape  perfectly  in  accord  with  her  morality.  The  useless 
and  agonising  were  put  out  of  the  world  by  common  con- 
sent ;  the  Euthanasia  houses  witnessed  to  it.  Then  why 
not  she.?  ,  .  .  For  she  could  not  bear  it!  .  .  .  Then  Oliver 
had  come,  she  had  fought  her  way  back  to  sanity  and  con- 
fidence ;  and  the  phantom  had  gone  again. 

How  sensible  and  quiet  he  had  been,  she  was  beginning 
to  tell  herself  now,  as  the  quiet  influence  of  this  huge  throng 


THE  ENCOUNTER  241 

in  this  glorious  place  of  worship  possessed  her  once  more — 
how  reasonable  in  his  explanation  that  man  was  even  now 
only  convalescent  and  therefore  liable  to  relapse.  She  had 
told  herself  that  again  and  again  during  the  night,  but 
'd  had  been  different  when  he  had  said  so.  His  personality 
had  once  more  prevailed ;  and  the  name  of  Felsenburgh  had 
finished  the  work. 

"If  He  were  but  here !"  she  sighed.  But  she  knew  He  was 
far  away. 

It  was  not  until  a  quarter  to  eleven  that  she  understood 
that  the  crowds  outside  were  clamouring  for  Him  too,  and 
that  knowledge  reassured  her  yet  further.  They  knew, 
then,  these  wild  tigers,  where  their  redemption  lay ;  they 
understood  what  was  their  ideal,  even  if  they  had  not  at- 
tained to  it.  Ah !  if  He  were  but  here,  there  would  be  no 
more  question :  the  sullen  waves  would  sink  beneath  His 
call  of  peace,  the  hazy  clouds  lift,  the  rumble  die  to  silence. 
But  He  was  away — away  on  some  strange  business.  Well ; 
He  knew  His  work.  He  would  surely  come  soon  again  to 
His  children  who  needed  Him  so  terribly. 

She  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  alone  in  a  crowd.  Her 
neighbour,  a  grizzled  old  man  with  his  daughters  beyond, 
was  her  only  neighbour,  and  a  stranger.  At  her  left  rose 
up  the  red-covered  barricade  over  which  she  could  see  the 
sanctuary  and  the  curtain ;  and  her  seat  in  the  tribune, 
raised  some  eight  feet  above  the  floor,  removed  her  from  any 
possibility  of  conversation.  She  was  thankful  for  that :  she 
did  not  want  to  talk ;  she  wanted  only  to  control  her  facul- 
ties in  silence,  to  reassert  her  faith,  to  look  out  over  this 


U^  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

enormous  throng  gathered  to  pay  homage  to  the  great 
Spirit  whom  they  had  betrayed,  to  renew  her  own  courage 
and  faithfuhiess.  She  wondered  wliat  the  preacher  would 
say,  whether  there  would  be  any  note  of  penitence.  Ma- 
ternity was  his  subject — that  benign  aspect  of  universal 
life — tenderness,  love,  quiet,  receptive,  protective  passion, 
the  spirit  that  soothes  rather  than  inspires,  that  busies  itself 
with  peaceful  tasks,  that  kindles  the  lights  and  fires  of 
home,  that  gives  sleep,  food  and  welcome.  .    .    . 

The  bell  stopped,  and  in  the  instant  before  the  music 
began  she  heard,  clear  above  the  mumiur  within,  the  roar  of 
the  crowds  outside,  who  still  demanded  their  God.  Then, 
with  a  crash,  the  huge  organ  awoke,  pierced  by  the  cry  of 
the  trumpets  and  the  maddening  throb  of  drums.  There 
was  no  delicate  prelude  here,  no  slow  stirring  of  life  rising 
through  labyrinths  of  mystery  to  the  climax  of  sight — 
here  rather  was  full-orbed  day,  the  high  noon  of  knowledge 
and  power,  the  dayspring  from  on  high,  dawning  in  mid- 
heaven.  Her  heart  quickened  to  meet  it,  and  her  reviving 
confidence,  still  convalescent,  stirred  and  smiled,  as  the  tre- 
mendous chords  blared  overhead,  telling  of  triumph  full- 
armed.  God  was  man,  then,  after  all — a  God  who  last 
night  had  faltered  for  an  hour,  but  who  rose  again  on 
this  morning  of  a  new  year,  scattering  mists,  dominant 
over  his  own  passion,  all-compelling  and  all-beloved.  God 
was  man,  and  Felsenburgh  his  Incarnation !  Yes,  she  must 
believe  that !     She  did  believe  that ! 

Then  she  saw  how  already  the  long  procession  was  wind- 
ing up  beneath  the  screen,  and  by  imperceptible  art  the 
light  grew  yet  more  acutely  beautiful.  ^  They  were  com- 
ing, then,  those  ministers  of  a  pure  worship ;  grave  men 


THE  ENCOUNTER  243 

who  knew  in  what  they  believed,  and  who,  even  if  they 
did  not  at  this  moment  thrill  with  feeling  (for  she  knew  that 
in  this  respect  her  husband  for  one  did  not),  yet  believed 
the  principles  of  this  worship  and  recognised  their  need  of 
expression  for  the  majority  of  mankind — coming  slowly 
up  in  fours  and  pairs  and  units,  led  by  robed  vergers,  rip- 
pling over  the  steps,  and  emerging  again  into  the  coloured 
sunlight  in  all  their  bravery  of  Masonic  apron,  badge  and 
jewel.     Surely  here  was  reassurance  enough. 

The  sanctuary  now  held  a  figure  or  two.  Anxious-faced 
Mr.  Francis,  in  his  robes  of  office,  came  gravely  down  the 
steps  and  stood  awaiting  the  procession,  directing  with 
almost  imperceptible  motions  his  satellites  who  hovered 
about  the  aisles  ready  to  point  this  way  and  that  to  the 
advancing  stream ;  and  the  western-most  seats  were  already 
beginning  to  fill,  when  on  a  sudden  she  recognised  that 
something  had  happened. 

Just  now  the  roaring  of  the  mob  outside  had  provided 
a  kind  of  underbass  to  the  music  within,  imperceptible  ex- 
cept to  sub-consciousness,  but  clearly  discernible  in  its  ab- 
sence ;  and  this  absence  was  now  a  fact. 

At  first  she  thought  that  the  signal  of  beginning  worship 
had  hushed  them  ;  and  then,  with  an  indescribable  thrill,  she 
remembered  that  in  all  her  knowledge  only  one  thing  had 
ever  availed  to  quiet  a  turbulent  crowd.  Yet  she  was  not 
sure;  it  might  be  an  illusion.  Even  now  the  mob  might  be 
roaring  still,  and  she  only  deaf  to  it ;  but  again  with  an 
ecstasy  that  was  very  near  to  agony  slie  perceived  that 
the  murmur  of  voices  even  within  the  building  had  ceased, 
and  that  some  great   wave  of  emotion  was  stirring  the 


244.  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

sheets  and  slopes  of  faces  before  her  as  a  wind  stirs  wheat. 
A  moment  later,  and  she  was  on  her  feet,  gripping  the  rail, 
with  her  heart  like  an  over-driven  engine  beating  pulses  of 
blood,  furious  and  insistent,  through  every  vein ;  for  with  a 
great  rushing  surge  that  sounded  like  a  sigh,  heard  even 
above  the  triumphant  tumult  overhead,  the  whole  enormous 
assemblage  had  risen  to  its  feet. 

Confusion  seemed  to  break  out  in  the  orderly  procession. 
She  saw  Mr.  Francis  run  forward  quickly,  gesticulating 
like  a  conductor,  and  at  his  signal  the  long  line  swayed  for- 
ward, split,  recoiled,  and  again  slid  swiftly  forward,  break- 
ing as  it  did  so  into  twenty  streams  that  poured  along  the 
seats  and  filled  them  in  a  moment.  Men  ran  and  pushed, 
aprons  flapped,  hands  beckoned,  all  without  coherent  words. 

There  was  a  knocking  of  feet,  the  crash  of  an  overturned 
chair,  and  then,  as  if  a  god  had  lifted  his  hand  for  quiet,  the 
music  ceased  abruptly,  sending  a  wild  echo  that  swooned 
and  died  in  a  moment ;  a  great  sigh  filled  its  place,  and, 
in  the  coloured  sunshine  that  lay  along  the  immense  length 
of  the  gangway  that  ran  open  now  from  west  to  east,  far 
down  in  the  distant  nave,  a  single  figure  was  seen  advancing. 


Ill 


What  Mabel  saw  and  heard  and  felt  from  eleven  o'clock 
to  half-an-hour  after  noon  on  that  first  morning  of  the 
New  Year  she  could  never  adequately  remember.  For  the 
time  she  lost  the  continuous  consciousness  of  self,  the 
power  of  reflection,  for  she  was  still  weak  from  her  struggle ; 
there  was  no  longer  in  her  the  process  by  which  events  are 


THE  ENCOUNTER  245 

stored,  labelled  and  recorded ;  she  was  no  more  than  a  being 
who  observed  as  it  were  in  one  long  act,  across  which  con- 
siderations played  at  uncertain  intervals.  Eyes  and  ear 
seemed  her  sole  functions,  communicating  direct  with  a 
burning  heart. 

She  did  not  even  know  at  what  point  her  senses  told  her 
that  this  was  Felsenburgh.  She  seemed  to  have  known  it 
even  before  he  entered,  and  she  watched  Him  as  in  complete 
silence  He  came  dehberately  up  the  red  carpet,  superbly 
alone,  rising  a  step  or  two  at  the  entrance  of  the  choir, 
passing  on  and  up  before  her.  He  was  in  his  English 
judicial  dress  of  scarlet  and  black,  but  she  scarcely  noticed 
it.  For  her,  too,  no  one  else  existed  but  He;  this  vast  as- 
semblage was  gone,  poised  and  transfigured  in  one  vibrat- 
ing atmosphere  of  an  immense  human  emotion.  There  was 
no  one,  anywhere,  but  Julian  Felsenburgh.  Peace  and 
light  burned  like  a  glory  about  Him. 

For  an  instant  after  passing  he  disappeared  beyond  the 
speaker's  tribune,  and  the  instant  after  reappeared  once 
more,  coming  up  the  steps.  He  reached  his  place — she 
could  see  His  profile  beneath  her  and  slightly  to  the  left, 
pure  and  keen  as  the  blade  of  a  knife,  beneath  His  white 
hair.  He  lifted  one  white-furred  sleeve,  made  a  single  mo- 
tion, and  with  a  surge  and  a  rumble,  the  ten  thousand  were 
seated.  He  motioned  again  and  with  a  roar  they  were  on 
their  feet. 

Again  there  was  a  silence.  He  stood  now,  perfectly  still. 
His  hands  laid  together  on  the  rail,  and  His  face  looking 
steadily  before  Him ;  it  seemed  as  if  He  who  had  drawn  all 
eyes  and  stilled  all  sounds  were  waiting  until  His  domina- 


246  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

tion  were  complete,  and  there  was  but  one  will,  one  desire, 
and  that  beneath  His  hand.    Then  He  began  to  speak.  .   .  . 

In  this  again,  as  Mabel  perceived  afterwards,  there  was 
no  precise  or  verbal  record  within  her  of  what  he  said ; 
there  was  no  conscious  process  by  which  she  received,  tested, 
or  approved  what  she  heard.  The  nearest  image  under 
which  she  could  afterwards  describe  her  emotions  to  her- 
self, was  that  when  He  spoke  it  was  she  who  was  speak- 
ing. Her  own  thoughts,  her  predispositions,  her  griefs, 
her  disappointment,  her  passion,  her  hopes — all  these  in- 
terior acts  of  the  soul  known  scarcely  even  to  herself,  down 
even,  it  seemed,  to  the  minutest  whorls  and  eddies  of 
thought,  were,  by  this  man,  lifted  up,  cleansed,  kindled, 
satisfied  and  proclaimed.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she 
became  perfectly  aware  of  what  human  nature  meant;  for 
it  was  her  own  heart  that  passed  out  upon  the  air,  borne 
on  that  immense  voice.  Again,  as  once  before  for  a  few 
moments  in  Paul's  House,  it  seemed  that  creation,  groan- 
ing so  long,  had  spoken  articulate  words  at  last — had  come 
to  growth  and  coherent  thought  and  perfect  speech.  Yet 
then  He  had  spoken  to  men ;  now  it  was  Man  Himself 
speaking.  It  was  not  one  man  who  spoke  there,  it  was  Man 
— Man  conscious  of  his  origin,  his  destiny,  and  his  pil- 
grimage between,  Man  sane  again  after  a  night  of  mad- 
ness— knowing  his  strength,  declaring  his  law,  lamenting 
in  a  voice  as  eloquent  as  stringed  instruments  his  own  fail- 
ure to  correspond.  It  was  a  soliloquy  rather  than  an  ora- 
tion. Rome  had  fallen,  English  and  Italian  streets  had 
run  with  blood,  smoke  and  flame  had  gone  up  to  heaven, 
because  man  had  for  an  instant  sunk  back  to  the  tiger.    Yet 


THE  ENCOUNTER  247 

it  was  done,  cried  the  great  voice,  and  there  was  no  re- 
pentance; it  was  done,  and  ages  hence  man  must  still  do 
penance  and  flush  scarlet  with  shame  to  remember  that  once 
he  turned  his  back  on  the  risen  light. 

There  was  no  appeal  to  the  lurid,  no  picture  of  the  tum- 
bling palaces,  the  running  figures,  the  coughing  explosions, 
the  shaking  of  the  earth  and  the  dying  of  the  doomed.  It 
was  rather  with  those  hot  hearts  shouting  in  the  English 
and  German  streets,  or  aloft  in  the  winter  air  of  Italy,  the 
ugly  passions  that  warred  there,  as  the  volors  rocked  at 
their  stations,  generating  and  fulfilling  revenge,  paying 
back  plot  with  plot,  and  violence  with  violence.  For  there, 
cried  the  voice,  was  man  as  he  had  been,  fallen  in  an  in- 
stant to  the  cruel  old  ages  before  he  had  learned  what  he 
was  and  why. 

There  was  no  repentance,  said  the  voice  again,  but  there 
was  something  better;  and  as  the  hard,  stinging  tones 
melted,  the  girl's  dry  eyes  of  shame  filled  in  an  instant  with 
tears.  There  was  something  better — the  knowledge  of 
what  crimes  man  was  yet  capable  of,  and  the  will  to  use  that 
knowledge.  Rome  was  gone,  and  it  was  a  lamentable 
shame ;  Rome  was  gone,  and  the  air  was  the  sweeter  for 
it ;  and  then  in  an  instant,  like  the  soar  of  a  bird,  He  was 
up  and  away — away  from  the  horrid  gulf  where  He  had 
looked  just  now,  from  the  fragments  of  charred  bodies, 
and  tumbled  houses  and  all  the  signs  of  man's  disgrace, 
to  the  pure  air  and  sunlight  to  which  man  must  once  more 
set  his  face.  Yet  He  bore  with  Him  in  that  wonderful 
flight  the  dew  of  tears  and  the  aroma  of  earth.  He  had 
not  spared  words  with  which  to  lash  and  whip  the  naked 
human  heart,  and  He  did  not  spare  words  to  lift  up  the 


248  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

bleeding,  shrinking  thing,  and  comfort  it  with  the  divine 
vision  of  love.  .   .    . 

Historically  speaking,  it  was  about  forty  minutes  before 
He  turned  to  the  shrouded  image  behind  the  altar. 

"Oh!     Maternity!"  he  cried.     "Mother  of  us  all " 

And  then,  to  those  who  heard  Him,  the  supreme  miracle 
took  place.  .  .  .  For  it  seemed  now  in  an  instant  that  it 
was  no  longer  man  who  spoke,  but  One  who  stood  upon 
the  stage  of  the  superhuman.  The  curtain  ripped  back,  as 
one  who  stood  by  it  tore,  panting,  at  the  strings ;  and  there, 
it  seemed,  face  to  face  stood  the  Mother  above  the  altar, 
huge,  white  and  protective,  and  the  Child,  one  passionate 
incarnation  of  love,  crying  to  her  from  the  tribune. 
"Oh !  Mother  of  us  all,  and  Mother  of  Me  !" 
So  He  praised  her  to  her  face,  that  sublime  principle  of 
life,  declared  her  glories  and  her  strength,  her  Immaculate 
Motherhood,  her  seven  swords  of  anguish  driven  through 
her  heart  by  the  passion  and  the  follies  of  her  Son — He 
promised  her  great  things,  the  recognition  of  her  countless 
children,  the  love  and  service  of  the  unborn,  the  welcome 
of  those  yet  quickening  within  the  womb.  He  named  her 
the  Wisdom  of  the  INIost  High,  that  sweetly  orders  all 
things,  the  Gate  of  Heaven,  House  of  Ivory,  Comforter 
of  the  afflicted.  Queen  of  the  World;  and,  to  the  delirious 
eyes  of  those  who  looked  on  her  it  seemed  that  the  grave 
face  smiled  to  hear  Him.    .    .    . 

A  great  panting  as  of  some  monstrous  life  began  to  fill 
the  air  as  the  mob  swayed  behind  Him,  and  the  torrential 
voice  poured  on.  Waves  of  emotion  swept  up  and  down; 
there  were  cries  and  sobs,  the  yelping  of  a  man  beside  him- 
self at  last,  from  somewhere  among  the  crowded  seats,  the 


THE  ENCOUNTER  249 

crash  of  a  bench,  and  another  and  another,  and  the  gang- 
M'ays  were  full,  for  He  no  longer  held  them  passive  to  lis- 
ten ;  He  was  rousing  them  to  some  supreme  act.  The  tide 
crawled  nearer,  and  the  faces  stared  no  longer  at  the  Son 
but  the  Mother;  the  girl  in  the  gallery  tore  at  the  heavy 
railing,  and  sank  down  sobbing  upon  her  knees.  And  above 
all  the  voice  pealed  on — and  the  thin  hands  blanched  to 
whiteness  strained  from  the  wide  and  sumptuous  sleeves  as 
if  to  reach  across  the  sanctuary  itself. 

It  was  a  new  tale  He  was  telling  now,  and  all  to  her 
glory.  He  was  from  the  East,  now  they  knew,  come  from 
some  triumph.  He  had  been  hailed  as  King,  adored  as 
Divine,  as  was  meet  and  right — He,  the  humble  superhu- 
man son  of  a  Human  Mother — who  bore  not  a  sword  but 
peace,  not  a  cross  but  a  crown.  So  it  seemed  He  was  say- 
ing; yet  no  man  there  knew  whether  He  said  it  or  not — 
whether  the  voice  proclaimed  it,  or  their  hearts  asserted  it. 

He  was  on  the  steps  of  the  sanctuary  now,  still  with  out- 
stretched hands  and  pouring  words,  and  the  mob  rolled 
after  him  to  the  rumble  of  ten  thousand  feet  and  the  sigh- 
ing of  ten  thousand  hearts.  .  .  .  He  was  at  the  altar;  He 
was  upon  it.  Again  in  one  last  cry,  as  the  crowd  broke 
against  the  steps  beneath,  He  hailed  her  Queen  and 
Mother. 

The  end  came  in  a  moment,  swift  and  inevitable.  And 
for  an  instant,  before  the  girl  in  the  gallery  sank  down, 
blind  with  tears,  she  saw  the  tiny  figure  poised  there  at 
the  knees  of  the  huge  image,  beneath  the  expectant  hands, 
silent  and  transfigured  in  the  blaze  of  light.  The  Mother, 
it  seemed,  had  found  her  Son  at  last. 

For  an  insant  she  saw  it,  the  soaring  columns,  the  gilding 


250  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

and  the  colours,  the  swaying  heads,  the  tossing  hands. 
It  was  a  sea  that  heaved  before  her,  lights  went  up  and 
down,  the  rose  window  whirled  overhead,  presences  filled 
the  air,  heaven  flashed  away,  and  the  earth  shook  in  ecstasy. 
Then  in  the  heavenly  light,  to  the  crash  of  drums,  above 
the  screaming  of  the  women  and  the  battering  of  feet,  in 
one  thunder-peal  of  worship  ten  thousand  voices  hailed 
Him  Lord  and  God. 


BOOK    III— THE    VICTORY 


CHAPTER  I 


The  little  room  where  the  new  Pope  sat  reading  was  a 
model  of  simplicity.  Its  walls  were  whitewashed,  its  roof 
unpolished  rafters,  and  its  floor  beaten  mud.  A  square  table 
stood  in  the  centre,  with  a  chair  beside  it;  a  cold  brazier 
laid  for  lighting,  stood  in  the  wide  hearth;  a  bookshelf 
against  the  wall  held  a  dozen  volumes.  There  were  three 
doors,  one  leading  to  the  private  oratory,  one  to  the  ante- 
room, and  the  third  to  the  little  paved  court.  The  south 
windows  were  shuttered,  but  through  the  ill-fitting  hinges 
streamed  knife-blades  of  fiery  light  from  the  hot  Eastern 
day  outside. 

It  was  the  time  of  the  mid-day  siesta,  and  except  for  the 
brisk  scything  of  the  cicade  from  the  hill-slope  behind  the 
house,  all  was  in  deep  silence. 

The  Pope,  who  had  dined  an  hour  before,  had  hardly 
shifted  His  attitude  in  all  that  time,  so  intent  was  He  upon 
His  reading.  For  the  while,  all  was  put  away.  His  own 
memory  of  those  last  three  months,  the  bitter  anxiety,  the 
intolerable  load  of  responsibility.  The  book  He  held  was 
a  cheap  reprint  of  the  famous  biography  of  Julian  Felsen- 


252  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

burgh,  issued  a  month  before,  and  He  was  now  drawing  to 
an  end. 

It  was  a  terse,  well-written  book,  composed  by  an  unknown 
hand,  and  some  even  suspected  it  to  be  the  disguised  work 
of  Felsenburgh  himself.  More,  however,  considered  that 
it  was  written  at  least  with  Felsenburgh's  consent  by  one 
of  that  small  body  of  intimates  whom  he  had  admitted  to 
his  society — that  body  which  under  him  now  conducted  the 
affairs  of  West  and  East.  From  certain  indications  in  the 
book  it  had  been  argued  that  its  actual  writer  was  a 
Westerner. 

The  main  body  of  the  work  dealt  with  his  life,  or  rather 
with  those  two  or  three  years  known  to  the  world,  from  his 
rapid  rise  in  American  politics  and  his  mediation  in  the 
East  down  to  the  event  of  five  months  ago,  when  in  swift 
succession  he  had  been  hailed  Messiah  in  Damascus,  had 
been  formally  adored  in  London,  and  finall}'  elected  by  an 
extraordinary  majority  to  the  Tribuniciate  of  the  two 
Americas. 

The  Pope  had  read  rapidly  through  these  objective  facts, 
for  He  knew  them  well  enough  already,  and  was  now  study- 
ing with  close  attention  the  summary  of  his  character,  or 
rather,  as  the  author  rather  sententiously  explained,  the 
summary  of  his  self-manifestation  to  the  world.  He  read 
the  description  of  his  two  main  characteristics,  his  grasp 
upon  words  and  facts ;  "words,  the  daughters  of  earth, 
were  wedded  in  this  man  to  facts,  the  sons  of  heaven,  and 
Superman  was  their  offspring."  His  minor  characteristics, 
too,  were  noticed,  his  appetite  for  literature,  his  astonish- 
ing memory,  his  linguistic  powers.  He  possessed,  it  ap- 
peared, both  the  telescopic  and  the  microscopic  eye — he 


THE  VICTORY  253 

discerned  world-wide  tendencies  and  movements  on  the  one 
hand ;  he  had  a  passionate  capacity  for  detail  on  the  other. 
Various  anecdotes  illustrated  these  remarks,  and  a  number 
of  terse  aphorisms  of  his  were  recorded.  "No  man  for- 
gives," he  said ;  "he  only  understands."  "It  needs  supreme 
faith  to  renounce  a  transcendent  God."  "A  man  who  be- 
lieves in  himself  is  almost  capable  of  believing  in  his  neigh- 
bour." Here  was  a  sentence  that  to  the  Pope's  mind  was 
significant  of  that  sublime  egotism  that  is  alone  capable  of 
confronting  the  Christian  spirit:  and  again,  "To  forgive 
a  wrong  is  to  condone  a  crime,"  and  "The  strong  man  is 
accessible  to  no  one,  but  all  are  accessible  to  him." 

There  was  a  certain  pompousness  in  this  array  of  remarks, 
but  it  lay,  as  the  Pope  saw  very  well,  not  in  the  speaker 
but  in  the  scribe.  To  him  who  had  seen  the  speaker  it  was 
plain  how  they  had  been  uttered — with  no  pontifical 
solemnity,  but  whirled  out  in  a  fiery  stream  of  eloquence,  or 
spoken  with  that  strangely  moving  simplicity  that  had  con- 
stituted his  first  assault  on  London.  It  was  possible  to  hate 
Felsenburgh,  and  to  fear  him;  but  never  to  be  amused  at 
him. 

But  plainly  the  supreme  pleasure  of  the  writer  was  to 
trace  the  analogy  between  his  hero  and  nature.  In  both 
there  was  the  same  apparent  contradictoriness — the  com- 
bination of  utter  tenderness  and  utter  ruthlessness.  "The 
power  that  heals  wounds  also  inflicts  them :  that  clothes  the 
dungheap  with  sweet  growths  and  grasses,  breaks,  too,  into 
fire  and  earthquake ;  that  causes  the  partridge  to  die  for  her 
young,  also  makes  the  shrike  with  his  living  larder."  So, 
too,  with  Felsenburgh;  He  who  had  wept  over  the  Fall  of 
Rome,  a  month  later  had  spoken  of  extermination  as  an 


264  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

instrument  that  even  now  might  be  judicially  used  in  the 
service  of  humanity.  Only  it  must  be  used  with  delibera- 
tion, not  with  passion. 

The  utterance  had  aroused  extraordinary  interest,  since 
it  seemed  so  paradoxical  from  one  who  preached  peace  and 
toleration ;  and  argument  had  broken  out  all  over  the 
world.  But  beyond  enforcing  the  dispersal  of  the  Irish 
Catholics,  and  the  execution  of  a  few  individuals,  so  far 
that  utterance  had  not  been  acted  upon.  Yet  the  world 
seemed  as  a  whole  to  have  accepted  it,  and  even  now  to  be 
waiting  for  its  fulfilment. 

As  the  biographer  pointed  out,  the  world  enclosed  in  physi- 
cal nature  should  welcome  one  who  followed  its  precepts, 
one  who  was  indeed  the  first  to  introduce  deliberately  and 
confessedly  into  human  affairs  such  laws  as  those  of  the 
Survival  of  the  Fittest  and  the  immorality  of  forgiveness. 
If  there  was  mystery  in  the  one,  there  was  mystery  in  the 
other,  and  both  must  be  accepted  if  man  was  to  develop. 

And  the  secret  of  this,  it  seemed,  lay  in  His  personality. 
To  see  Him  was  to  believe  in  Him,  or  rather  to  accept  Him 
as  inevitably  true.  "We  do  not  explain  nature  or  escape 
from  it  by  sentimental  regrets :  the  hare  cries  like  a  child, 
the  wounded  stag  weeps  great  tears,  the  robin  kills  his 
parents ;  life  exists  only  on  condition  of  death ;  and  these 
things  happen  however  we  may  weave  theories  that  explain 
nothing.  Life  must  be  accepted  on  those  terms ;  we  cannot 
be  wrong  if  we  follow  nature ;  rather  to  accept  them  is  to 
find  peace — our  great  mother  only  reveals  her  secrets  to 
those  who  take  her  as  she  is."  So,  too,  with  Felsenburgh. 
"It  is  not  for  us  to  discriminate :  His  personality  is  of  a 
kind  that  does  not  admit  it.     He  is  complete  and  sufficing 


THE  VICTORY  255 

for  those  who  trust  Him  and  are  wilh'ng  to  suffer;  an  hos- 
tile and  hateful  enigma  to  those  who  are  not.  We  must 
prepare  ourselves  for  the  logical  outcome  of  this  doctrine. 
Sentimentality  must  not  be  permitted  to  dominate  reason." 

Finally,  then,  the  writer  showed  how  to  this  Man  be- 
longed properly  all  those  titles  hitherto  lavished  upon 
imagined  Supreme  Beings.  It  was  in  preparation  for  Him 
that  these  types  came  into  the  realms  of  thought  and  in- 
fluenced men's  lives. 

He  was  the  Creator,  for  it  was  reserved  for  Him  to  bring 
into  being  the  perfect  life  of  union  to  which  all  the  world 
had  hitherto  groaned  in  vain ;  it  was  in  His  own  image 
and  likeness  that  He  had  made  man. 

Yet  He  was  the  Redeemer  too,  for  that  likeness  had  in  one 
sense  always  underlain  the  tumult  of  mistake  and  con- 
flict. He  had  brought  man  out  of  darkness  and  the 
shadow  of  death,  guiding  their  feet  into  the  way  of  peace. 
He  was  the  Saviour  for  the  same  reason — the  Son  of  Man, 
for  He  alone  was  perfectly  human;  He  was  the  Absolute, 
for  He  was  the  content  of  Ideals ;  the  Eternal,  for  He  had 
lain  always  in  nature's  potentiality  and  secured  by  His 
being  the  continuity  of  that  order;  the  Infinite,  for  all 
finite  things  fell  short  of  Him  who  was  more  than  their  sum. 

He  was  Alpha,  then,  and  Omega,  the  beginning  and  the 
end,  the  first  and  the  last.  He  was  Dominus  et  Deus  noster 
(as  Domitian  had  been,  the  Pope  reflected).  He  was  as 
simple  and  as  complex  as  life  itself — simple  in  its  essence, 
complex  in  its  activities. 

And  last  of  all,  the  supreme  proof  of  His  mission  lay  in 
the  immortal  nature  of  His  message.  There  was  no  more 
to  be  added  to  what  He  had  brought  to  light — for  in  Him 


256  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

all  diverging  lines  at  last  found  their  origin  and  their  end. 
As  to  whether  or  no  He  would  prove  to  be  personally  im- 
mortal was  an  wholly  irrelevant  thought ;  it  would  be  indeed 
fitting  if  through  His  means  the  vital  principle  should  dis- 
close its  last  secret ;  but  no  more  than  fitting.  Already 
His  spirit  was  in  the  world ;  the  individual  was  no  more 
separate  from  his  fellows ;  death  no  more  than  a  wrinkle 
that  came  and  went  across  the  inviolable  sea.  For  man 
had  learned  at  last  that  the  race  was  all  and  self  was  noth- 
ing; the  cell  had  discovered  the  unity  of  the  body;  even, 
the  greatest  thinkers  declared,  the  consciousness  of  the  in- 
dividual had  yielded  the  title  of  Personality  to  the  corporate 
mass  of  man — and  the  restlessness  of  the  unit  had  sunk  into 
the  peace  of  a  common  Hvniianity,  for  nothing  but  this 
could  explain  the  cessation  of  party  strife  and  national 
competition — and  this,  above  all,  had  been  the  work  of 
Felsenburgh. 

"Behold  I  am  xvith  you  always,"  quoted  the  writer  in  a 
passionate  peroration,  "even  noxc  in  the  consummation  of 
the  world;  and  the  Comforter  is  come  unto  you.  I  am  the 
Door — the  Way,  the  Truth  and  the  Life — the  Bread  of 
Life  and  the  Water  of  Life.  My  name  is  Wonderful,  the 
Prince  of  Peace,  the  Father  Everlasting.  It  is  I  who  am 
the  Desire  of  all  nations,  the  fairest  among  the  children  of 
men — and  of  my  Kingdom  there  shall  be  no  end." 

The  Pope  laid  down  the  book,  and  leaned  back,  closing  his 
eyes. 


THE  VICTORY  257 

II 

And  as  for  Himself,  what  had  He  to  say  to  all  this?  A 
Transcendent  God  Who  hid  Himself,  a  Divine  Saviour 
Who  delayed  to  come,  a  Comforter  heard  no  longer  in 
wind  nor  seen  in  fire ! 

There,  in  the  next  room,  was  a  little  wooden  altar,  and 
above  it  an  iron  box,  and  within  that  box  a  silver  cup, 
and  within  that  cup — Something.  Outside  the  house,  a 
hundred  yards  away,  lay  the  domes  and  plaster  roofs  of 
a  little  village  called  Nazareth ;  Carmel  was  on  the  right, 
a  mile  or  two  away,  Thabor  on  the  left,  the  plain  of 
Esdraelon  in  front ;  and  behind,  Cana  and  Galilee,  and  the 
quiet  lake,  and  Hermon.  And  far  away  to  the  south  lay 
Jerusalem.  .    .    . 

It  was  to  this  tiny  strip  of  holy  land  that  the  Pope  had 
come — the  land  where  a  Faith  had  sprouted  two  thousand 
years  ago,  and  where,  unless  God  spoke  in  fire  from  heaven, 
it  would  presently  be  cut  down  as  a  cumberer  of  the 
ground.  It  was  here  on  this  material  earth  that  One  had 
walked  Whom  all  men  had  thought  to  have  been  He  Who 
would  redeem  Israel — in  this  village  that  He  had  fetched 
water  and  made  boxes  and  chairs,  on  that  long  lake  that 
His  Feet  had  walked,  on  that  high  hill  that  He  had  flamed 
in  glory,  on  that  smooth,  low  mountain  to  the  north  that  He 
had  declared  that  the  meek  were  blessed  and  should  inherit 
the  earth,  that  peacemakers  were  the  children  of  God,  that 
they  who  hungered  and  thirsted  should  be  satisfied. 

And  now  it  was  come  to  this.  Christianity  had  smouldered 
away  from  Europe  Uke  a  sunset  on  darkening  peaks ;  Eter- 
nal Rome  was  a  heap  of  ruins ;  in  East  and  West  alike  a 


258  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

man  liad  been  set  upon  the  throne  of  God,  had  been  ac- 
claimed as  divine.  The  world  had  leaped  forward ;  social 
science  was  supreme ;  men  had  learned  consistency ;  they 
had  learned,  too,  the  social  lessons  of  Christianity  apart 
from  a  Divine  Teacher,  or,  rather,  they  said,  in  spite  of 
Him.  There  were  left,  perhaps,  three  millions,  perhaps 
five,  at  the  utmost  ten  millions — it  was  impossible  to  know 
— throughout  the  entire  inhabited  globe  who  still  wor- 
shipped Jesus  Christ  as  God.  And  the  Vicar  of  Christ  sat 
in  a  whitewashed  room  in  Nazareth,  dressed  as  simply  as 
His  master,  waiting  for  the  end. 

He  had  done  what  He  could.  There  had  been  a  week  five 
months  ago  when  it  had  been  doubtful  whether  anything 
at  all  could  be  done.  There  were  left  three  Cardinals  alive. 
Himself,  Steinmann,  and  the  Patriarch  of  Jerusalem;  the 
rest  lay  mangled  somewhere  in  the  ruins  of  Rome.  There 
was  no  precedent  to  follow ;  so  the  two  Europeans  had  made 
their  way  out  to  the  East,  and  to  the  one  town  in  it  where 
quiet  still  reigned.  With  the  disappearance  of  Greek 
Christianity  there  had  also  vanished  the  last  remnants  of 
internecine  war  in  Christendom ;  and  by  a  kind  of  tacit 
consent  of  the  world.  Christians  were  allowed  a  moderate 
liberty  in  Palestine.  Russia,  which  now  held  the  country 
as  a  dependency,  had  sufficient  sentiment  left  to  leave  it 
alone ;  it  was  true  that  the  holy  places  had  been  desecrated, 
and  remained  now  only  as  spots  of  antiquarian  interest ; 
the  altars  were  gone  but  the  sites  were  yet  marked,  and, 
although  mass  could  no  longer  be  said  there,  it  was  under- 
stood that  private  oratories  were  not  forbidden. 

It  was  in  this  state  that  the  two  European  Cardinals  had 


THE  VICTORY  269 

found  the  Holy  City ;  it  was  not  thought  wise  to  wear  in- 
signia of  any  description  in  public ;  and  it  was  practically 
certain  even  now  that  the  civilised  world  was  unaware  of 
their  existence;  for  within  three  days  of  their  arrival  the 
old  Patriarch  had  died,  yet  not  before  Percy  Franklin, 
surely  under  the  strangest  circumstances  since  those  of  the 
first  century,  had  been  elected  to  the  Supreme  Pontificate. 
It  had  all  been  done  in  a  few  minutes  by  the  dying  man's 
bedside.  The  two  old  men  had  insisted.  The  German 
had  even  recurred  once  more  to  the  strange  resemblance 
between  Percy  and  Julian  Felsenburgh,  and  had  murmured 
his  old  half-heard  remarks  about  the  antithesis,  and  the  Fin- 
ger of  God ;  and  Percy,  marvelling  at  his  superstition,  had 
accepted,  and  the  election  was  recorded.  He  had  taken  the 
name  of  Silvester,  the  last  saint  in  the  year,  and  was  the 
third  of  that  title.  He  had  then  retired  to  Nazareth  with 
his  chaplain ;  Steinmann  had  gone  back  to  Germany,  and 
been  hanged  in  a  riot  within  a  fortnight  of  his  arrival. 

The  next  matter  was  the  creation  of  new  cardinals,  and 
to  twenty  persons,  with  infinite  precautions,  briefs  had  been 
conveyed.  Of  these,  nine  had  declined ;  three  more  had  been 
approached,  of  whom  only  one  had  accepted.  There  were 
therefore  at  this  moment  twelve  persons  in  the  world  who 
constituted  the  Sacred  College — two  Englishmen,  of  whom 
Corkran  was  one ;  two  Americans,  a  Frenchman,  a  German, 
an  Italian,  a  Spaniard,  a  Pole,  a  Chinaman,  a  Greek,  and 
a  Russian.  To  these  were  entrusted  vast  districts  over 
which  their  control  was  supreme,  subject  only  to  the  Holy 
Father  Himself. 

As  regarded  the  Pope's  own  life  very  little  need  be  said. 
It  resembled,  He  thought,  in  its  outward  circumstances  that 


260  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

of  such  a  man  as  Leo  the  Great,  without  His  worldly  Im- 
portance or  pomp.  Theoretically,  the  Christian  world  was 
under  His  dominion ;  practically,  Christian  affairs  were 
administered  by  local  authorities.  It  was  impossible  for  a 
hundred  reasons  for  Him  to  do  what  He  wished  with  regard 
to  the  exchange  of  communications.  An  elaborate  cypher 
had  been  designed,  and  a  private  telegraphic  station  or- 
ganised on  His  roof  communicating  with  another  in 
Damascus  where  Cardinal  Corkran  had  fixed  his  residence ; 
and  from  that  centre  messages  occasionally  were  despatched 
to  ecclesiastical  authorities  elsewhere ;  but,  for  the  most 
part,  there  was  little  to  be  done.  The  Pope,  however,  had 
the  satisfaction  of  knowing  that,  with  incredible  difficulty, 
a  little  progress  had  been  made  towards  the  reorganisa- 
tion of  the  hierarchy  in  all  countries.  Bishops  were  being 
consecrated  freely ;  there  were  not  less  than  two  thousand 
of  them  all  told,  and  of  priests  an  unknown  number.  The 
Order  of  Christ  Crucified  Avas  doing  excellent  work,  and 
the  tales  of  not  less  than  four  hundred  martyrdoms  had 
reached  Nazareth  during  the  last  two  months,  accomplished 
mostly  at  the  hands  of  the  mobs. 

In  other  respects,  also,  as  well  as  in  the  primary  object 
of  the  Order's  existence  (namely,  the  affording  of  an 
opportunity  to  all  who  loved  God  to  dedicate  themselves 
to  Him  more  perfectly),  the  new  Religious  were  doing 
good  work.  The  more  perilous  tasks — the  work  of  com- 
munication between  prelates,  missions  to  persons  of  sus- 
pected integrity — all  the  business,  in  fact,  which  was  car- 
ried on  now  at  the  vital  risk  of  the  agent  were  entrusted 
solely  to  members  of  the  Order.  Stringent  instructions 
had  been  issued  from  Nazareth  that  no  bishop  was  to  expose 


THE  VICTORY  261 

himself  unnecessarily ;  each  was  to  regard  himself  as  the 
heart  of  his  diocese  to  be  protected  at  all  costs  save  that  of 
Christian  honour,  and  in  consequence  each  had  surrounded 
himself  with  a  group  of  the  new  Religious — men  and  women 
— who  with  extraordinary  and  generous  obedience  under- 
took such  dangerous  tasks  as  they  were  capable  of  perform- 
ing. It  was  plain  enough  by  now  that  had  it  not  been  for 
the  Order,  the  Church  would  have  been  little  better  than 
paralysed  under  these  new  conditions. 

Extraordinary  facilities  were  being  issued  in  all  directions. 
Every  priest  who  belonged  to  the  Order  received  universal 
jurisdiction  subject  to  the  bishop,  if  any,  of  the  diocese 
in  which  he  might  be ;  mass  might  be  said  on  any  day  of  the 
year  of  the  Five  Wounds,  or  the  Resurrection,  or  Our 
Lady ;  and  all  had  the  privilege  of  the  portable  altar,  now 
permitted  to  be  wood.  Further  ritual  requirements  were 
relaxed ;  mass  might  be  said  with  any  decent  vessels  of  any 
material  capable  of  destruction,  such  as  glass  or  china; 
bread  of  any  description  might  be  used;  and  no  vestments 
were  obligatory  except  the  thin  thread  that  now  represented 
the  stole ;  lights  were  non-essential ;  none  need  wear  the 
clerical  habit ;  and  rosary,  even  without  beads,  was  always 
permissible  instead  of  the  Office. 

In  this  manner  priests  were  rendered  capable  of  giving 
the  sacraments  and  offering  the  holy  sacrifice  at  the  least 
possible  risk  to  themselves ;  and  these  relaxations  had  al- 
ready proved  of  enormous  benefit  in  the  European  prisons, 
where  by  this  time  many  thousands  of  Catholics  were  under- 
going the  penalty  of  refusing  public  worship. 

The  Pope's  private  life  was  as  simple  as  His  room.     He 


LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

had  one  Syrian  priest  for  His  chaplain,  and  two  Syrian 
servants.  He  said  His  mass  each  morning,  Himself  wearing 
vestments  and  His  white  habit  beneath,  and  heard  a  mass 
after.  Pie  then  took  His  coffee,  after  changing  into  the 
tunic  and  burnous  of  the  country,  and  spent  the  morning 
over  business.  He  dined  at  noon,  slept,  and  rode  out,  for 
the  country  by  reason  of  its  indeterminate  position  was  still 
in  the  simplicity  of  a  hundred  years  ago.  He  returned  at 
dusk,  supped,  and  worked  again  till  late  into  the  night. 

That  was  all.  His  chaplain  sent  what  messages  were 
necessary  to  Damascus ;  His  servants,  themselves  ignorant 
of  His  dignity,  dealt  with  the  secular  world  so  far  as  was 
required,  and  the  utmost  that  seemed  to  be  known  to  His 
few  neighbours  was  that  there  lived  in  the  late  Sheikh's 
little  house  on  the  hill  an  eccentric  European  with  a  tele- 
graph office.  His  servants,  themselves  devout  Catholics, 
knew  Him  for  a  bishop,  but  no  more  than  that.  They 
were  told  only  that  there  was  yet  a  Pope  alive,  and  with 
that  and  the  sacraments  were  content. 

To  sum  up,  therefore — the  Catholic  world  knew  that  their 
Pope  lived  under  the  name  of  Silvester ;  and  thirteen  persons 
of  the  entire  human  race  knew  that  Franklin  had  been  His 
name,  and  that  the  throne  of  Peter  rested  for  the  time  in 
Nazareth. 

It  was,  as  a  Frenchman  had  said,  just  a  hundred  years 
ago.     Catholicism  survived;  but  no  more. 


THE  VICTORY  263 

III 

And  as  for  His  inner  life,  what  can  be  said  of  that? 

He  lay  now  back  in  his  wooden  chair,  thinking,  with 
closed  eyes. 

He  could  not  have  described  it  consistently  even  to  Him- 
self, for  indeed  He  scarcely  knew  it :  He  acted  rather  than 
indulged  in  reflex  thought.  But  the  centre  of  His  posi- 
tion was  simple  faith.  The  Catholic  Religion,  He  knew 
well  enough,  gave  the  only  adequate  explanation  of  the  uni- 
verse ;  it  did  not  unlock  all  mysteries,  but  it  unlocked  more 
than  any  other  key  known  to  man ;  He  knew,  too,  perfectly 
well,  that  it  was  the  only  system  of  thought  that  satisfied 
man  as  a  whole,  and  accounted  for  him  in  his  essential 
nature.  Further,  He  saw  well  enough  that  the  failure  of 
Christianity  to  unite  all  men  one  to  another  rested  not 
upon  its  feebleness  but  its  strength ;  its  lines  met  in  eter- 
nity, not  in  time.     Besides,  He  happened  to  believe  it. 

But  to  this  foreground  there  were  other  moods  whose 
shifting  was  out  of  his  control.  In  his  exalte  moods, 
which  came  upon  Him  like  a  breeze  from  Paradise,  the  back- 
ground was  bright  with  hope  and  drama — He  saw  Himself 
and  His  companions  as  Peter  and  the  Apostles  must  have 
regarded  themselves,  as  they  proclaimed  through  the  world, 
in  temples,  slums,  market-places  and  private  houses,  the 
faith  that  was  to  shake  and  transform  the  world.  They 
had  handled  the  Lord  of  Life,  seen  the  empty  sepulchre, 
grasped  the  pierced  hands  of  Him  Who  was  their  brother 
and  their  God.  It  was  radiantly  true,  though  not  a  man 
believed  it ;  the  huge  superincumbent  weight  of  increduHty 
could  not  disturb  a  fact  that  was  as  the  sun  in  heaven. 


264  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

Moreover,  the  very  desperateness  of  the  cause  was  their 
inspiration.  There  was  no  temptation  to  lean  upon  the 
arm  of  flesh,  for  there  was  none  that  fought  for  them  but 
God.  Their  nakedness  was  their  armour,  their  slow 
tongues  their  persuasiveness,  their  weakness  demanded 
God's  strength,  and  found  it.  Yet  there  was  this  differ- 
ence, and  it  was  a  significant  one.  For  Peter  the  spiritual 
world  had  an  interpretation  and  a  guarantee  in  the  outward 
events  he  had  witnessed.  He  had  handled  the  Risen  Christ, 
the  external  corroborated  the  internal.  But  for  Silvester 
it  was  not  so.  For  Plim  it  was  necessary  so  to  grasp  spir- 
itual truths  in  the  supernatural  sphere  that  the  external 
events  of  the  Incarnation  were  proved  by  rather  than  proved 
the  certitude  of  His  spiritual  apprehension.  Certainly, 
historically  speaking,  Christianity  was  true — proved  by  its 
records — yet  to  see  that  needed  illumination.  He  appre- 
hended the  power  of  the  Resurrection,  therefore  Christ  was 
risen. 

Therefore  in  heavier  moods  it  was  different  with  him. 
There  were  periods,  lasting  sometimes  for  days  together, 
clouding  Him  when  He  awoke,  stifling  Him  as  He  tried  to 
sleep,  dulling  the  very  savour  of  the  Sacrament  and  the 
thrill  of  the  Precious  Blood ;  times  in  which  the  darkness 
was  so  intolerable  that  even  the  solid  objects  of  faith  at- 
tenuated themselves  to  shadow,  when  half  His  nature  was 
blind  not  only  to  Christ,  but  to  God  Himself,  and  the  real- 
ity of  His  own  existence — when  His  own  awful  dignity 
seemed  as  the  insignia  of  a  fool.  And  was  it  conceivable. 
His  earthly  mind  demanded,  that  He  and  His  college  of 
twelve  and  His  few  thousands  should  be  right,  and  the  en- 
tire consensus  of  the  civilised  world  wrong.'*     It  was  not 


THE  VICTORY  265 

that  the  world  had  not  heard  the  message  of  the  Gospel ; 
it  had  heard  little  else  for  two  thousand  years,  and  now 
pronounced  it  false — false  in  its  external  credentials,  and 
false  therefore  in  its  spiritual  claims.  It  was  a  lost  cause 
for  which  He  suffered;  He  was  not  the  last  of  an  august 
line.  He  was  the  smoking  wick  of  a  candle  of  folly ;  He 
was  the  reductio  ad  absurdum  of  a  ludicrous  syllogism 
based  on  impossible  premises.  He  was  not  worth  killing, 
He  and  His  company  of  the  insane — they  were  no  more 
than  the  crowned  dunces  of  the  world's  school.  Sanity  sat 
on  the  solid  benches  of  materialism.  And  this  heaviness 
waxed  so  dark  sometimes  that  He  almost  persuaded  Himself 
that  His  faith  was  gone ;  the  clamours  of  mind  so  loud  that 
the  whisper  of  the  heart  was  unheard,  the  desires  for 
earthly  peace  so  fierce  that  supernatural  ambitions  were  si- 
lenced— so  dense  was  the  gloom,  that,  hoping  against  hope, 
believing  against  knowledge,  and  loving  against  truth.  He 
cried  as  One  other  had  cried  on  another  day  like  this — 
Eliy  Eli,  lama  sabachthani!  .  .  .  But  that,  at  least.  He 
never  failed  to  cry. 

One  thing  alone  gave  Him  power  to  go  on,  so  far  at  least 
as  His  consciousness  was  concerned,  and  that  was  His 
meditation.  He  had  travelled  far  in  the  mystical  life  since 
His  agonies  of  effort.  Now  He  used  no  deliberate  descents 
into  the  spiritual  world:  He  threw,  as  it  were.  His  hands 
over  His  head,  and  dropped  into  spacelessness.  Conscious- 
ness would  draw  Him  up,  as  a  cork,  to  the  surface,  but  He 
would  do  no  more  than  repeat  His  action,  until  by  that  ces- 
sation of  activity,  which  is  the  supreme  energy.  He  floated 
in  the  twilight  realm  of  transcendence ;  and  there  God  would 
deal  with  Him — now  by  an  articulate  sentence,  now  by  a 


266  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

sword  of  pain,  now  by  an  air  like  the  vivifying  breath  of 
the  sea.  Sometimes  after  Communion  He  would  treat  Him 
so,  sometimes  as  He  fell  asleep,  sometimes  in  the  whirl  of 
work.  Yet  His  consciousness  did  not  seem  to  retain  for 
long  such  experiences;  five  minutes  later,  it  might  be,  He 
would  be  wrestling  once  more  with  the  all  but  sensible 
phantoms  of  the  mind  and  the  heart. 

There  He  lay,  then,  in  the  chair,  revolving  the  intolerable 
blasphemies  that  He  had  read.  His  white  hair  was  thin 
upon  His  browned  temples.  His  hands  were  as  the  hands 
of  a  spirit,  and  His  young  face  lined  and  patched  with 
sorrow.  His  bare  feet  protruded  from  beneath  His  stained 
tunic,  and  His  old  brown  burnous  lay  on  the  floor  beside 
Him.   .    .    . 

It  was  an  hour  before  He  moved,  and  the  sun  had  already 
lost  half  its  fierceness,  when  the  steps  of  the  horses  sounded 
in  the  paved  court  outside.  Then  He  sat  up,  slipped  His 
feet  into  their  shoes,  and  lifted  the  burnous  from  the  floor, 
as  the  door  opened  and  the  lean  sun-burned  priest  came 
through. 

"The  horses,  Holiness,"  said  the  man. 

The  Pope  spoke  not  one  word  that  afternoon,  until  the 
two  came  towards  sunset  up  the  bridle-path  that  leads  be- 
tween Thabor  and  Nazareth.  They  had  taken  their  usual 
round  through  Cana,  mounting  a  hillock  from  which  the 
long  mirror  of  Gennesareth  could  be  seen,  and  passing  on, 
always  bearing  to  the  right,  under  the  shadow  of  Thabor 
until  once  more  Esdraelon  spread  itself  beneath  like  a  grc}"^- 
green  carpet,  a  vast  circle,  twenty  miles  across,  sprinkled 
sparsely    with    groups    of    huts,    white    walls    and    roofs, 


THE  VICTORY  267 

with  Nain  visible  on  the  other  side,  Carmel  heaving  its 
long  form  far  off  on  the  right,  and  Nazareth  nestling 
a  mile  or  two  away  on  the  plateau  on  which  they  had 
halted. 

It  was  a  sight  of  extraordinary  peace,  and  seemed  an  ex- 
tract from  some  old  picture-book  designed  centuries  ago. 
Here  was  no  crowd  of  roofs,  no  pressure  of  hot  humanity, 
no  terrible  evidences  of  civilisation  and  manufactory  and 
strenuous,  fruitless  effort.  A  few  tired  Jews  had  come 
back  to  this  quiet  little  land,  as  old  people  may  return  to 
their  native  place,  with  no  hope  of  renewing  their  youth, 
or  refinding  their  ideals,  but  with  a  kind  of  sentimentality 
that  prevails  so  often  over  more  logical  motives,  and  a  few 
more  barrack-like  houses  had  been  added  here  and  there  to 
the  obscure  villages  in  sight.  But  it  was  very  much  as 
it  had  been  a  hundred  years  ago. 

The  plain  was  half  shadowed  by  Carmel,  and  half  in 
dusty  golden  light.  Overhead  the  clear  Eastern  sky  was 
flushed  with  rose,  as  it  had  flushed  for  Abraham,  Jacob, 
and  the  Son  of  David.  There  was  no  little  cloud  here,  as 
a  man's  hand,  over  the  sea,  charged  with  both  promise  and 
terror;  no  sound  of  chariot-wheels  from  earth  or  heaven, 
no  vision  of  heavenly  horses  such  as  a  young  man  had  seen 
thirty  centuries  ago  in  this  very  sky.  Here  was  the  old 
earth  and  the  old  heaven,  unchanged  and  unchangeable; 
the  patient,  returning  spring  had  starred  the  thin  soil  with 
flowers  of  Bethlehem,  and  those  glorious  lilies  to  which 
Solomon's  scarlet  garments  might  not  be  compared.  There 
was  no  whisper  from  the  Throne  as  when  Gabriel  had  once 
stooped  through  this  very  air  to  hail  Her  who  was  blessed 
among  women,  no  breath  of  promise  or  hope  beyond  that 


LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

which  God  sends  through  every  movement  of  His  created 
robe  of  Hfe. 

As  the  two  halted,  and  the  horses  looked  out  with  steady, 
inquisitive  eyes  at  the  immensity  of  light  and  air  beneath 
them,  a  soft  hooting  cry  broke  out,  and  a  shepherd  passed 
below  along  the  hillside  a  hundred  yards  away,  trailing  his 
long  shadow  behind  him,  and  to  the  mellow  tinkle  of  bells 
his  flock  came  after,  a  troop  of  obedient  sheep  and  wilful 
goats,  cropping  and  following  and  cropping  again  as  they 
went  on  to  the  fold,  called  by  name  in  that  sad  minor  voice 
of  him  who  knew  each,  and  led  instead  of  driving.  The  soft 
clanking  grew  fainter,  the  shadow  of  the  shepherd  shot 
once  to  their  very  feet,  as  he  topped  the  rise,  and  vanished 
again  as  he  stepped  down  once  more ;  and  the  call  grew 
fainter  yet,  and  ceased. 

The  Pope  lifted  His  hand  to  His  eyes  for  an  instant, 
then  smoothed  it  down  His  face. 

He  nodded  across  to  a  dim  patch  of  white  walls  glim- 
mering through  the  violet  haze  of  the  falling  twilight. 

"That  place,  father,"  He  said,  "what  is  its  name?" 

The  Syrian  priest  looked  across,  back  once  more  at  the 
Pope,  and  across  again. 

"That  among  the  palms.  Holiness.'*" 

"Yes." 

"That  is  Megiddo,"  he  said.  "Some  call  it  Armageddon." 


CHAPTER  II 


At  twenty-three  o'clock  that  night  the  Syrian  priest  went 
out  to  watch  for  the  coming  of  the  messenger  from 
Tiberias.  Nearly  two  hours  previously  he  had  heard  the 
cry  of  the  Russian  volor  that  plied  from  Damascus  to 
Tiberias,  and  Tiberias  to  Jerusalem,  and  even  as  it  was  the 
messenger  was  a  little  late. 

These  were  very  primitive  arrangements,  but  Palestine  was 
out  of  the  world — a  slip  of  useless  country — and  it  was 
necessary  for  a  man  to  ride  from  Tiberias  to  Nazareth  each 
night  with  papers  from  Cardinal  Corkran  to  the  Pope, 
and  to  return  with  correspondence.  It  was  a  dangerous 
task,  and  the  members  of  the  New  Order  who  surrounded 
the  Cardinal  undertook  it  by  turns.  In  this  manner  all  mat- 
ters for  which  the  Pope's  personal  attention  was  required, 
and  which  were  too  long  and  not  too  urgent,  could  be  dealt 
with  at  leisure  by  him,  and  an  answer  returned  within  the 
twenty-four  hours. 

It  was  a  brilliant  moonlit  night.  The  great  golden  shield 
was  riding  high  above  Thabor,  shedding  its  strange  metallic 
light  down  the  long  slopes  and  over  the  moor-like  country 
that  rose  up  from  before  the  house-door — casting  too  heavy 
black  shadows  that  seemed  far  more  concrete  and  solid  than 
the  brilliant  pale  surfaces  of  the  rock  slabs  or  even  than 
the  diamond  flashes  from  the  quartz  and  crystal  that  here 
and  there  sparkled  up  the  stony  pathway.     Compared  with 


270  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

this  clear  splendour,  the  yellow  light  from  the  shuttered 
house  seemed  a  hot  and  tawdry  thing ;  and  the  priest,  lean- 
ing against  the  door-post,  his  eyes  alone  alight  in  his  dark 
face,  sank  down  at  last  with  a  kind  of  Eastern  sensuousness 
to  bathe  himself  in  the  glory,  and  to  spread  his  lean,  brown 
hands  out  to  it. 

This  was  a  very  simple  man,  in  faith  as  well  as  in  Hfe. 
For  him  there  were  neither  the  ecstasies  nor  the  desolations 
of  his  master.  It  was  an  immense  and  solemn  joy  to  him 
to  live  here  at  the  spot  of  God's  Incarnation  and  in  at- 
tendance upon  His  Vicar.  As  regarded  the  movements  of 
the  world,  he  observed  them  as  a  man  in  a  ship  watches  the 
heaving  of  the  waves  far  beneath.  Of  course  the  world  was 
restless,  he  half  perceived,  for,  as  the  Latin  Doctor  had 
said,  all  hearts  were  restless  until  they  found  their  rest  in 
God.  Quare  fremuerunt  gentes?  .  .  .  Adversus  Dominum, 
et  adversus  Christum  ejus!  As  to  the  end — he  was  not 
greatly  concerned.  It  might  well  be  that  the  ship  would  be 
overwhelmed,  but  the  moment  of  the  catastrophe  would  be 
the  end  of  all  things  earthly.  The  gates  of  hell  shall  not 
prevail :  when  Rome  falls,  the  world  falls ;  and  when  the 
world  falls,  Christ  is  manifest  in  power.  For  himself,  he 
imagined  that  the  end  was  not  far  away.  When  he  had 
named  Megiddo  this  afternoon  it  had  been  in  his  mind;  to 
him  it  seemed  natural  that  at  the  consummation  of  all 
things  Christ's  Vicar  should  dwell  at  Nazareth  where  His 
King  had  come  on  earth — and  that  the  Armageddon  of  the 
Divine  John  should  be  within  sight  of  the  scene  where 
Christ  had  first  taken  His  earthly  sceptre  and  should  take 
it  again.  After  all,  it  would  not  be  the  first  battle  that 
Megiddo  had  seen.    Israel  and  Amalek  had  met  here ;  Israel 


THE  VICTORY  ^71 

and  Assyria ;  Sesostris  had  ridden  here  and  Sennacherib. 
Christian  and  Turk  had  contended  here,  like  Michael  and 
Satan,  over  the  place  where  God's  Body  had  lain.  As  to  the 
exact  method  of  that  end,  he  had  no  clear  views ;  it  would 
be  a  battle  of  some  kind,  and  what  field  could  be  found 
more  evidently  designed  for  that  than  this  huge  flat  circular 
plain  of  Esdraelon,  twenty  miles  across,  sufficient  to  hold 
all  the  armies  of  the  earth  in  its  embrace?  To  his  view 
once  more,  ignorant  as  he  was  of  present  statistics,  the 
world  was  divided  into  two  large  sections.  Christians  and 
heathens,  and  he  supposed  them  very  much  of  a  size. 
Something  would  happen,  troops  would  land  at  Khaifa, 
they  would  stream  southwards  from  Tiberias,  Damascus 
and  remote  Asia,  northwards  from  Jerusalem,  Egypt  and 
Africa ;  eastwards  from  Europe ;  westwards  from  Asia 
again  and  the  far-off  Americas.  And,  surely,  the  time 
could  not  be  far  away,  for  here  was  Christ's  Vicar;  and, 
as  He  Himself  had  said  in  His  gospel  of  the  Advent, 
Ubicumque  fuerit  corpus,  illic  congregabuntur  et  aquilae. 
Of  more  subtle  interpretations  of  prophecy  he  had  no 
knowledge.  For  him  words  were  things,  not  merely  labels 
upon  ideas.  What  Christ  and  St.  Paul  and  St.  John  had 
said — these  things  were  so.  He  had  escaped,  owing  chiefly 
to  his  isolation  from  the  world,  that  vast  expansion  of 
Ritschlian  ideas  that  during  the  last  century  had  been  re- 
sponsible for  the  desertion  by  so  many  of  any  intelligible 
creed.  For  others  this  had  been  the  supreme  struggle — 
the  difficulty  of  decision  between  the  facts  that  words  were 
not  things,  and  yet  that  the  things  they  represented  were 
in  themselves  objective.  But  to  this  man,  sitting  now  in 
the  moonlight,  listening  to  the  far-off^  tap  of  hoofs  over 


^n  LORD  OP  THE  WORLD 

the  hill  as  the  messenger  came  up  from  Cana,  faith  was 
as  simple  as  an  exact  science.  Here  Gabriel  had  descended 
on  wide  feathered  wings  from  the  Throne  of  God  set  be- 
yond the  stars,  the  Holy  Ghost  had  breathed  in  a  beam  of 
ineffable  light,  the  Word  had  become  Flesh  as  Mary  folded 
her  arms  and  bowed  her  head  to  the  decree  of  the  Eternal. 
And  here  once  more,  he  thought,  though  it  was  no  more 
than  a  guess — yet  he  thought  that  already  the  running  of 
chariot-wheels  was  audible — the  tumult  of  the  hosts  of  God 
gathering  about  the  camp  of  the  saints — he  thought  that 
already  beyond  the  bars  of  the  dark  Gabriel  set  to  his  lips 
the  trumpet  of  doom  and  heaven  was  astir.  He  might  be 
wrong  at  this  time,  as  others  had  been  wrong  at  other  times, 
but  neither  he  nor  they  could  be  wrong  for  ever ;  there  must 
some  day  be  an  end  to  the  patience  of  God,  even  though 
that  patience  sprang  from  the  eternity  of  His  nature. 

He  stood  up,  as  down  the  pale  moonlit  path  a  hundred 
yards  away  came  a  pale  figure  of  one  who  rode,  with  a 
leather  bag  strapped  to  his  girdle. 


II 


It  would  be  about  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  that  the 
priest  awoke  in  his  little  mud-walled  room  next  to  that  of 
the  Holy  Father's,  and  heard  a  footstep  coming  up  the 
stairs.  Last  evening  he  had  left  his  master  as  usual  be- 
ginning to  open  the  pile  of  letters  arrived  from  Cardinal 
Corkran,  and  himself  had  gone  straight  to  his  bed  and 
slept.    He  lay  now  a  moment  or  two,  still  drowsy,  listening 


THE  VICTORY  STS 

to  the  pad  of  feet,  and  an  instant  later  sat  up  abruptly, 
for  a  deliberate  tap  had  sounded  on  the  door.  Again  it 
came;  he  sprang  out  of  bed  in  his  long  night-tunic,  drew 
it  up  hastily  in  his  girdle,  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

The  Pope  was  standing  there,  with  a  little  lamp  in  one 
hand,  for  the  dawn  had  scarcely  yet  begun,  and  a  paper 
in  the  other. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Father;  but  there  is  a  message  I 
must  have  sent  at  once  to  his  Eminence." 

Together  they  went  out  through  the  Pope's  room,  the 
priest,  still  half-blind  with  sleep,  passed  up  the  stairs,  and 
emerged  into  the  clear  cold  air  of  the  upper  roof.  The 
Pope  blew  out  His  lamp,  and  set  it  on  the  parapet. 

"You  will  be  cold.  Father;  fetch  your  cloak." 

"And  you,  Holiness.?" 

The  other  made  a  little  gesture  of  denial,  and  went  across 
to  the  tiny  temporarj'  shed  where  the  wireless  telegraphic 
instrument  stood. 

"Fetch  your  cloak.  Father,"  He  said  again  over  His 
shoulder.     "I  will  ring  up  meanwhile." 

When  the  priest  came  back  three  minutes  later,  in  his 
slippers  and  cloak,  carrying  another  cloak  also  for  his  mas- 
ter, the  Pope  was  still  seated  at  the  table.  He  did  not 
even  move  His  head  as  the  other  came  up,  but  once  more 
pressed  on  the  lever  that,  communicating  with  the  twelve- 
foot  pole  that  rose  through  the  pent-house  overhead,  shot 
out  the  quivering  energy  through  the  eighty  miles  of  glim- 
mering air  that  lay  between  Nazareth  and  Damascus. 

This  simple  priest  had  scarcely  even  by  now  become  ac- 
customed to  this  extraordinary  device  invented  a  century 
ago  and  perfected  through  all  those  years  to  this  precise 


^74  LORD  OF  TKE  WORLD 

exactness — that  device  by  which  with  tlie  help  of  a  stick,, 
a  bundle  of  wires,  and  a  box  of  wheels,  something,  at  last 
established  to  be  at  the  root  of  all  matter,  if  not  at  the 
very  root  of  physical  life,  spoke  across  the  spaces  of  the 
world  to  a  tiny  receiver  tuned  by  a  hair's  breadth  to  the 
vibration  with  which  it  was  set  in  relations. 

The  air  was  surprisingly  cold,  considering  the  heat  that 
had  preceded  and  would  follow  it,  and  the  priest  shivered 
a  little  as  he  stood  clear  of  the  roof,  and  stared,  now  at 
the  motionless  figure  in  the  chair  before  him,  now  at  the 
vast  vault  of  the  sky  passing,  even  as  he  looked,  from  a 
cold  colourless  luminosity  to  a  tender  tint  of  yellow,  as 
far  away  beyond  Thabor  and  Moab  the  dawn  began  to 
deepen.  From  the  village  half-a-mile  away  arose  the  crow- 
ing of  a  cock,  thin  and  brazen  as  a  trumpet ;  a  dog  barked 
once  and  was  silent  again ;  and  then,  on  a  sudden,  a  single 
stroke  upon  a  bell  hung  in  the  roof  recalled  him  in  an  in- 
stant, and  told  him  that  his  work  was  to  begin. 

The  Pope  pressed  the  lever  again  at  the  sound,  twice, 
and  then,  after  a  pause,  once  more — waited  a  moment  for 
an  answer,  and  then  when  it  came,  rose  and  signed  to  the 
priest  to  take  his  place. 

The  Syrian  sat  dovrn,  handing  the  extra  cloak  to  his  mas- 
ter, and  waited  until  the  other  had  settled  Himself  In  a  chair 
set  in  such  a  position  at  the  side  of  the  table  that  the  face 
of  each  was  visible  to  the  other.  Then  he  waited,  with 
his  brown  fingers  poised  above  the  row  of  keys,  looking 
at  the  other's  face  as  He  arranged  himself  to  speak.  That 
face,  he  thought,  looking  out  from  the  hood,  seemed  paler 
than  ever  in  this  cold  light  of  dawn ;  the  black  arched 
eyebrows  accentuated  this,  and  even  the  steady  lips,  pre- 


THE  VICTORY  275 

paring  to  speak,  seemed  white  and  bloodless.  He  had  His 
paper  in  His  hand,  and  His  eyes  were  fixed  upon  this. 

"Make  sure  it  is  the  Cardinal,"  he  said  abruptly. 

The  priest  tapped  off  an  enquiry,  and,  with  moving  lips, 
read  off  the  printed  message,  as  like  magic  it  precipitated 
itself  on  to  the  tall  white  sheet  of  paper  that  faced  him. 

"It  is  his  Eminence,  Holiness,"  he  said  softly.  "He  is 
alone  at  the  instrument." 

"Very  well.     Now  then ;  begin." 

"We  have  received  your  Eminence's  letter,  and  have  noted 
the  news.  ...  It  should  have  been  forwarded  by  telegraphy 
— why  was  that  not  done?" 

The  voice  paused,  and  the  priest  who  had  snapped  off 
the  message,  more  quickly  than  a  man  could  write  it,  read 
aloud  the  answer. 

"  'I  did  not  understand  that  it  was  urgent.  I  thought 
it  was  but  one  more  assault.  I  had  intended  to  communi- 
cate more  so  soon  as  I  heard  more.'  " 

"Of  course  it  was  urgent,"  came  the  voice  again  in  the 
deliberate  intonation  that  was  used  between  these  two  in 
the  case  of  messages  for  transmission.  "Remember  that 
all  news  of  this  kind  is  always  urgent." 

"  'I  will  remember,'  read  the  priest.  "  'I  regret  my  mis- 
take.' " 

"You  tell  us,"  went  on  the  Pope,  His  eyes  still  downcast 
on  the  paper,  "that  this  measure  is  decided  upon ;  you 
name  only  three  authorities.  Give  me,  now,  all  the  authori- 
ties you  have,  if  you  have  more." 

There  was  a  moment's  pause.  Then  the  priest  began  to 
read  off  the  names. 

"  'Besides  the  three  Cardinals  whose  names  I  sent,  the 


276  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

Archbishops  of  Thibet,  Cairo,  Calcutta  and  Sydney  have 
all  asked  if  the  news  was  true,  and  for  directions  if  it  is 
true;  besides  others  whose  names  I  can  communicate  if  I 
may  leave  the  table  for  a  moment.'  " 

"Do  so,"  said  the  Pope. 

Again  there  was  a  pause.  Then  once  more  the  names 
began. 

"  'The  Bishops  of  Bukarest,  the  Marquesas  Islands  and 
Newfoundland.  The  Franciscans  in  Japan,  the  Crutched 
Friars  in  Morocco,  the  Archbishops  of  Manitoba  and 
Portland,  and  the  Cardinal-Archbishop  of  Pekin.  I  have 
despatched  two  members  of  Christ  Crucified  to  England.'  " 

"Tell  us  when  the  news  first  arrived,  and  how." 

"  'I  was  called  up  to  the  instrument  yesterday  evening 
at  about  twenty  o'clock.  The  Archbishop  of  Sydney  was 
asking,  through  our  station  at  Bombay,  whether  the  news 
was  true.  I  replied  I  had  heard  nothing  of  it.  Within  ten 
minutes  four  more  inquiries  had  come  to  the  same  effect; 
and  three  minutes  later  Cardinal  Ruspoli  sent  the  positive 
news  from  Turin.  This  was  accompanied  by  a  similar  mes- 
sage from  Father  Petrovski  in  INIoscow.     Then '  " 

"Stop.  Why  did  not  Cardinal  Dolgorovski  communicate 
it.?" 

"  *He  did  communicate  it  three  hours  later.'  " 

"Why  not  at  once.?" 

"  'His  Eminence  had  not  heard  it.'  " 

"Find  out  at  what  hour  the  news  reached  Moscow — not 
now,  but  within  the  day." 

"  'I  will.'  " 

"Go  on,  then." 

"  'Cardinal  Malpas  communicated  it  within  five  minutes 


THE  VICTORY  277 

of  Cardinal  Ruspoli,  and  the  rest  of  the  inquiries  arrived 
before  midnight.     China  reported  it  at  twenty-three.*  " 

"Then  when  do  you  suppose  the  news  was  made  public.'"' 

"  'It  was  decided  first  at  the  secret  London  conference, 
yesterday,  at  about  sixteen  o'clock  by  our  time.  The 
Plenipotentiaries  appear  to  have  signed  it  at  that  hour. 
After  that  it  was  communicated  to  the  world.  It  was  pub- 
lished here  half  an  hour  past  midnight.'  " 

"Then  Felsenburgh  was  in  London?" 

"  *I  am  not  yet  sure.  Cardinal  Malpas  tells  me  that 
Felsenburgh  gave  his  provisional  consent  on  the  previous 
day.'  " 

"Very  good.     That  is  all  j'ou  know,  then.'"' 

"  'I  was  called  up  an  hour  ago  by  Cardinal  Ruspoli 
again.  He  tells  me  that  he  fears  a  riot  in  Florence ;  it  will 
be  the  first  of  many  revolutions,  he  says.'  " 

"Does  he  ask  for  anything?" 

"  'Only  for  directions.'  " 

"Tell  him  that  we  send  him  the  Apostolic  Benediction, 
and  will  forward  directions  within  the  course  of  two  hours. 
Select  twelve  members  of  the  Order  for  immediate  service." 

"  'I  will.'  " 

"Communicate  that  message  also,  as  soon  as  we  have  fin- 
ished, to  all  the  Sacred  College,  and  bid  them  communi- 
cate it  with  all  discretion  to  all  metropolitans  and  bishops, 
that  priests  and  people  may  know  that  We  bear  them  in 
our  heart." 

"  'I  will,  Holiness.'  " 

"Tell  them,  finally,  that  We  had  foreseen  this  long  ago ; 
that  We  commend  them  to  the  Eternal  Father  without 
Whose  Providence  no  sparrow  falls  to  the  ground.     Bid 


278  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

them  be  quiet  and  confident ;  to  do  nothing,  save  confess 
their  faith  when  they  are  questioned.     All  other  directions 
shall  be  issued  to  their  pastors  immediately !" 
"  'I  will,  Holiness.'  " 

There  was  again  a  pause. 

The  Pope  had  been  speaking  with  the  utmost  tranquillity 
as  one  in  a  dream.  His  eyes  were  downcast  upon  the  paper, 
His  whole  body  as  motionless  as  an  image.  Yet  to  the 
priest  who  listened,  despatching  the  Latin  messages,  and 
reading  aloud  the  replies,  it  seemed,  although  so  little  in- 
telligible news  had  reached  him,  as  if  something  very 
strange  and  great  was  impending.  There  was  the  sense  of 
a  peculiar  strain  in  the  air,  and  although  he  drew  no  deduc- 
tions from  the  fact  that  apparently  the  whole  Catholic 
world  was  in  frantic  communication  with  Damascus,  yet  he 
remembered  his  meditations  of  the  evening  before  as  he 
had  waited  for  the  messenger.  It  seemed  as  if  the  powers 
of  this  world  were  contemplating  one  more  step — with  its 
nature  he  was  not  greatly  concerned. 

The  Pope  spoke  again  in  His  natural  voice. 

"Father,"  he  said,  "what  I  am  about  to  say  now  is  as 
if  I  told  it  in  confession.  You  understand.'' — Very  well. 
Now  begin." 

Then  again  the  intonation  began. 

"Eminence.  We  shall  say  mass  of  the  Holy  Ghost  in  one 
hour  from  now.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  you  will  cause 
that  all  the  Sacred  College  shall  be  in  touch  with  your- 
self, and  waiting  for  our  commands.  This  new  decision 
is  unlike  any  that  have  preceded  it.  Surely  you  understand 
that  now.    Two  or  three  plans  are  in  our  mind,  yet  We  are 


THE  VICTORY  279 

not  sure  yet  which  it  is  that  our  Lord  intends.  After  mass 
We  shall  communicate  to  you  that  which  He  shall  show  Us 
to  be  according  to  His  Will.  We  beg  of  you  to  say  mass 
also,  immediately,  for  Our  intention.  Whatever  must  be 
done  must  be  done  quickly.  The  matter  of  Cardinal  Dol- 
gorovski  you  may  leave  until  later.  But  we  wish  to  hear 
the  result  of  your  inquiries,  especially  in  London,  before 
mid-day.  Benedicat  te  Omnipotens  Deus,  Pater  et  Filius 
et  Spiritus  Sanctus." 

"  ^AmenT  "  murmured  the   priest,  reading  it   from  the 
sheet. 


ni 


The  little  chapel  In  the  house  below  was  scarcely  more 
dignified  than  the  other  rooms.  Of  ornaments,  except 
those  absolutely  essential  to  liturgy  and  devotion,  there 
were  none.  In  the  plaster  of  the  walls  were  indented  in 
slight  relief  the  fourteen  stations  of  the  Cross ;  a  small 
stone  image  of  the  Mother  of  God  stood  in  a  corner,  with 
an  iron-work  candlestick  before  it,  and  on  the  solid  un- 
carved  stone  altar,  raised  on  a  stone  step,  stood  six  more 
iron  candlesticks  and  an  iron  crucifix.  A  tabernacle,  also 
of  iron,  shrouded  by  linen  curtains,  stood  beneath  the 
cross;  a  small  stone  slab  projecting  from  the  wall  served 
as  a  credence.  There  was  but  one  window,  and  this  looked 
into  the  court,  so  that  the  eyes  of  strangers  might  not 
penetrate. 

It  seemed  to  the  Syrian  priest  as  he  went  about  his  busi- 
ness— laying  out  the  vestments  in  the  little  sacristy  that 


280  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

opened  out  at  one  side  of  the  altar,  preparing  the  cruets 
and  stripping  the  covering  from  the  altar-cloth — that  even 
that  slight  work  was  wearying.  There  seemed  a  certain 
oppression  in  the  air.  As  to  how  far  that  was  the  result 
of  his  broken  rest  he  did  not  know,  but  he  feared  that  it  was 
one  more  of  those  scirocco  days  that  threatened.  That 
yellowish  tinge  of  dawn  had  not  passed  with  the  sun-rising ; 
even  now,  as  he  went  noiselessly  on  his  bare  feet  between 
the  predella  and  the  prie-dieu  where  the  silent  white  figure 
was  still  motionless,  he  caught  now  and  again,  above 
the  roof  across  the  tiny  court,  a  glimpse  of  that  faint 
sand-tinged  sky  that  was  the  promise  of  heat  and 
heaviness. 

He  finished  at  last,  lighted  the  candles,  genuflected,  and 
stood  with  bowed  head  waiting  for  the  Holy  Father  to  rise 
from  His  knees.  A  servant's  footstep  sounded  in  the  court, 
coming  across  to  hear  mass,  and  simultaneously  the  Pope 
rose  and  went  towards  the  sacristy,  where  the  red  vestments 
of  God  who  came  by  fire  were  laid  ready  for  the  Sacrifice. 

Silvester's  bearing  at  mass  was  singularly  unostentatious. 
He  moved  as  swiftly  as  any  young  priest.  His  voice  was 
quite  even  and  quite  low,  and  his  pace  neither  rapid  nor 
pompous.  According  to  tradition.  He  occupied  half-an- 
hour  ab  amictu  ad  amictum;  and  even  in  the  tiny  empty 
chapel  He  observed  to  keep  His  eyes  always  downcast.  And 
yet  this  Syrian  never  served  His  mass  without  a  thrill  of 
something  resembling  fear;  it  was  not  only  his  knowledge 
of  the  awful  dignity  of  this  simple  celebrant ;  but,  al- 
though he  could  not  have  expressed  it  so,  there  was  an 
aroma  of  an  emotion  about  the  vestmented  figure  that  af- 


THE  VICTORY  281 

fected  him  almost  physically — an  entire  absence  of  self- 
consciousness,  and  in  its  place  the  consciousness  of  some 
other  Presence,  a  perfection  of  manner  even  in  the  smallest 
details  that  could  only  arise  from  absolute  recollection. 
Even  in  Rome  in  the  old  days  it  had  been  one  of  the  sights 
of  Rome  to  see  Father  Franklin  say  mass ;  seminary 
students  on  the  eve  of  ordination  were  sent  to  that  sight  to 
learn  the  perfect  manner  and  method. 

To-day  all  was  as  usual,  but  at  the  Communion  the  priest 
looked  up  suddenly  at  the  moment  when  the  Host  had  been 
consumed,  with  a  half  impression  that  either  a  sound  or  a 
gesture  had  invited  it ;  and,  as  he  looked,  his  heart  began 
to  beat  thick  and  convulsive  at  the  base  of  his  throat.  Yet 
to  the  outward  eyes  there  was  nothing  unusual.  The  figure 
stood  there  with  bowed  head,  the  chin  resting  on  the  tips  of 
the  long  fingers,  the  body  absolutely  upright,  and  stand- 
ing with  that  curious  light  poise  as  if  no  weight  rested  upon 
the  feet.  But  to  the  inner  sense  something  was  apparent; 
the  Syrian  could  not  in  the  least  formulate  it  to  himself; 
but  afterwards  he  reflected  that  he  had  stared  expecting 
some  visible  or  audible  manifestation  to  take  place.  It  was 
an  impression  that  might  be  described  under  the  terms  of 
either  light  or  sound ;  at  any  instant  that  delicate  vivid 
force,  that  to  the  eyes  of  the  soul  burned  beneath  the  red 
chasuble  and  the  white  alb,  might  have  suddenly  welled 
outwards  under  the  appearance  of  a  gush  of  radiant  light 
rendering  luminous  not  only  the  clear  brown  flesh  seen  be- 
neath the  white  hair,  but  the  very  texture  of  the  coarse, 
dead,  stained  stuffs  that  swathed  the  rest  of  the  body.  Or 
it  might  have  shown  itself  in  the  strain  of  a  long  chord  on 
strings  or  wind,  as  if  the  mystical  union  of  the  dedicated 


282  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

soul  with  the  ineffable  Godhead  and  Humanity  of  Jesus 
Christ  generated  such  a  sound  as  ceaselessly  flows  out  with 
the  river  of  life  from  beneath  the  Throne  of  the  Lamb. 
Or  yet  once  more  it  might  have  declared  itself  under  the 
guise  of  a  perfume — the  very  essence  of  distilled  sweetness 
— such  a  scent  as  that  which,  streaming  out  through  the 
gross  tabernacle  of  a  saint's  body,  is  to  those  who  observe 
it  as  the  breath  of  heavenly  roses.  .    .    . 

The  moments  passed  in  that  hush  of  purity  and  peace ; 
sounds  came  and  went  outside,  the  rattle  of  a  cart  far  away, 
the  sawing  of  the  first  cicada  in  the  coarse  grass  twenty 
yards  away  beyond  the  wall;  some  one  behind  the  priest 
was  breathing  short  and  thick  as  under  the  pressure  of 
an  intolerable  emotion,  and  yet  the  figure  stood  there  still, 
without  a  movement  or  sway  to  break  the  carved  motionless- 
ness  of  the  alb-folds  or  the  perfect  poise  of  the  white-shod 
feet.  When  He  moved  at  last  to  uncover  the  Precious 
Blood,  to  lay  His  hands  on  the  altar  and  adore,  it  was  as 
if  a  statue  had  stirred  into  life ;  to  the  server  it  was  very 
nearly  as  a  shock. 

Again,  when  the  chalice  was  empty,  that  first  impression 
reasserted  itself;  the  human  and  the  external  died  in  the 
embrace  of  the  Divine  and  Invisible,  and  once  more  silence 
lived  and  glowed.  .  .  .  And  again  as  the  spiritual  energy 
sank  back  again  into  its  origin,  Silvester  stretched  out 
the  chalice. 

With  knees  that  shook  and  eyes  wide  in  expectation,  the 
priest  rose,  adored,  and  went  to  the  credence. 

It  was  customary  after  the  Pope's  mass  that  the  priest 
himself  should  offer  the  Sacrifice  in  his  presence,  but  to-day 


THE  VICTORY  283 

so  soon  as  the  vestments  had  been  laid  one  by  one  on  the 
rough  chest,  Silvester  turned  to  the  priest. 

"Presently,"  he  said  softly.  "Go  up,  father,  at  once  to 
the  roof,  and  tell  the  Cardinal  to  be  ready.  I  shall  come 
in  five  minutes." 

It  was  surely  a  scirocco-day,  thought  the  priest,  as  he 
came  up  on  to  the  flat  roof.  Overhead,  instead  of  the  clear 
blue  proper  to  that  hour  of  the  morning,  lay  a  pale  yellow 
sky  darkening  even  to  brown  at  the  horizon.  Thabor,  be- 
fore him,  hung  distant  and  sombre  seen  through  the  im- 
palpable atmosphere  of  sand,  and  across  the  plain,  as  he 
glanced  behind  him,  beyond  the  white  streak  of  Nain  noth- 
ing was  visible  except  the  pale  outline  of  the  tops  of  the 
hills  against  the  sky.  Even  at  this  morning  hour,  too,  the 
air  was  hot  and  breathless,  broken  only  by  the  slow-stifling 
lift  of  the  south-western  breeze  that,  blowing  across  count- 
less miles  of  sand  beyond  far-away  Egypt,  gathered  up  the 
heat  of  the  huge  waterless  continent  and  was  pouring  it, 
with  scarcely  a  streak  of  sea  to  soften  its  malignity,  on  this 
poor  strip  of  land.  Carmel,  too,  as  he  turned  again,  was 
swathed  about  its  base  with  mist,  half  dry  and  half  damp, 
and  above  showed  its  long  bull-head  running  out  defiantly 
against  the  western  sky.  The  very  table  as  he  touched  it 
was  dry  and  hot  to  the  hand,  by  mid-day  the  steel  would  be 
intolerable. 

He  pressed  the  lever,  and  waited;  pressed  it  again,  and 
waited  again.  There  came  the  answering  ring,  and  he 
tapped  across  the  eighty  miles  of  air  that  his  Eminence's 
presence  was  required  at  once.  A  minute  or  two  passed, 
and  then,  after  another  rap  of  the  bell,  a  line  flicked  out  on 
the  new  white  sheet. 


284  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"  *I  am  here.    Is  it  his  Holiness?' " 

He  felt  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  turned  to  see  Sil- 
vester, hooded  and  in  white,  behind  his  chair. 

"Tell  him  yes.     Ask  him  if  there  is  further  news." 

The  Pope  went  to  the  chair  once  more  and  sat  down,  and 
a  minute  later  the  priest,  with  growing  excitement,  read 
out  the  answer. 

"  'Inquiries  are  pouring  in.  Many  expect  your  Holiness 
to  issue  a  challenge.  My  secretaries  have  been  occupied 
since  four  o'clock.  The  anxiety  is  indescribable.  Some  are 
denying  that  they  have  a  Pope.  Something  must  be  done 
at  once.'  " 

"Is  that  all.?"  asked  the  Pope. 

Again  the  priest  read  out  the  answer.  "  'Yes  and  no. 
The  news  is  true.  It  will  be  inforced  immediately.  Unless 
a  step  is  taken  immediately  there  will  be  widespread  and 
final  apostasy.'  " 

"Very  good,"  murmured  the  Pope,  in  his  official  voice. 
"Now  listen  carefully,  Eminence."  He  was  silent  for  a 
moment,  his  fingers  joined  beneath  his  chin  as  just  now  at 
mass.     Then  he  spoke. 

"We  are  about  to  place  ourselves  unreservedly  in  the 
hands  of  God.  Human  prudence  must  no  longer  restrain 
us.  We  command  you  then,  using  all  discretion  that  is 
possible,  to  communicate  these  wishes  of  ours  to  the  fol- 
lowing persons  under  the  strictest  secrecy,  and  to  no  others 
whatsoever.  And  for  this  service  you  are  to  employ  mes- 
sengers, taken  from  the  Order  of  Christ  Crucified,  two  for 
each  message,  which  is  not  to  be  committed  to  writing  in 
any  form.  The  members  of  the  Sacred  College,  number- 
ing twelve;  the  metropolitans  and  Patriarchs  through  the 


THE  VICTORY  S85 

entire  world,  numbering  twenty-two ;  the  Generals  of  the 
Religious  Orders :  the  Society  of  Jesus,  the  Friars,  the 
Monks  Ordinary,  and  the  Monks  Contemplative — four. 
These  persons,  thirty-eight  in  number,  with  the  chaplain 
of  3'our  Eminence,  who  shall  act  as  notary,  and  my  own  who 
shall  assist  him,  and  Ourself — forty-one  all  told — these  per- 
sons are  to  present  themselves  here  at  our  palace  of  Naza- 
reth not  later  than  the  Eve  of  Pentecost.  We  feel  Ourselves 
unwilling  to  decide  the  steps  necessary  to  be  taken  with 
reference  to  the  new  decree,  except  we  first  hear  the  coun- 
sel of  our  advisers,  and  give  them  an  opportunity  of  com- 
municating freely  one  with  another.  These  words,  as  we 
have  spoken  them,  are  to  be  forwarded  to  all  those  persons 
whom  we  have  named;  and  your  Eminence  will  further  in- 
form them  that  our  deliberations  will  not  occupy  more  than 
four  days. 

"As  regards  the  questions  of  provisioning  the  council  and 
all  matters  of  that  kind,  your  Eminence  will  despatch  to- 
day the  chaplain  of  whom  we  have  spoken,  who  with  my 
own  chaplain  will  at  once  set  about  preparations,  and  your 
Eminence  will  yourself  follow,  appointing  Father  Mara- 
bout to  act  in  your  absence,  not  later  than  four  days  hence. 
"Finally,  to  all  who  have  asked  explicit  directions  in  the 
face  of  this  new  decree,  communicate  this  one  sentence,  and 
no  more. 

"Lose  not  your  confidence  which  hath  a  great  reward. 
For  yet  a  little  while,  and  He  that  is  to  come  will  come 
and  will  not  delay. — Silvester  the  Bishop,  Servant  of 
the  Servants  of  God." 


CHAPTER  III 


Oliver  Brand  stepped  out  from  the  Conference  Hall  in 
Westminster  on  the  Friday  evening,  so  soon  as  the  busi- 
ness was  over  and  the  Plenipotentiaries  had  risen  from  the 
table,  more  concerned  as  to  the  effect  of  the  news  upon  his 
wife  than  upon  the  world. 

He  traced  the  beginning  of  the  change  to  the  day  five 
months  ago  when  the  President  of  the  World  had  first  de- 
clared the  development  of  his  policy,  and  while  Oliver  him- 
self had  yielded  to  that  development,  and  from  defending  it 
in  public  had  gradually  convinced  himself  of  its  necessity, 
Mabel,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  had  shown  herself  abso- 
lutely obstinate. 

The  woman  to  his  mind  seemed  to  him  to  have  fallen  into 
some  kind  of  insanity.  Felsenburgh's  declaration  had  been 
made  a  week  or  two  after  his  Acclamation  at  Westminster, 
and  IVIabel  had  received  the  news  of  it  at  first  with  abso- 
lute incredulity. 

Then,  when  there  was  no  longer  any  doubt  that  he  had 
declared  the  extermination  of  the  Supernaturalists  to  be  a 
possible  necessity,  there  had  been  a  terrible  scene  between 
husband  and  wife.  She  had  said  that  she  had  been  de- 
ceived; that  the  world's  hope  was  a  monstrous  mockery; 
that  the  reign  of  universal  peace  was  as  far  away  as  ever ; 
that  Felsenburgh  had  betrayed  his  trust  and  broken  his 
word.     There  had  been  an  appalling  scene.     He  did  not 


THE  VICTORY  287 

even  now  like  to  recall  it  to  his  imagination.  She  had 
quieted  after  a  while,  but  his  arguments,  delivered  with  in- 
finite patience,  seemed  to  produce  very  little  effect.  She 
settled  down  into  silence,  hardly  answering  him.  One 
thing  only  seemed  to  touch  her,  and  that  was  when  he  spoke 
of  the  President  himself.  It  was  becoming  plain  to  him 
that  she  was  but  a  woman  after  all  at  the  mercy  of  a  strong 
personality,  but  utterly  be3'ond  the  reach  of  logic.  He  was 
very  much  disappointed.  Yet  he  trusted  to  time  to  cure 
her. 

The  Government  of  England  had  taken  swift  and  skilful 
steps  to  reassure  those  who,  like  Mabel,  recoiled  from  the 
inevitable  logic  of  the  new  policy.  An  army  of  speakers 
traversed  the  country-,  defending  and  explaining ;  the  press 
was  engineered  with  extraordinary  adroitness,  and  it  was 
possible  to  say  that  there  was  not  a  person  among  the  mil- 
lions of  England  who  had  not  easy  access  to  the  Govern- 
ment's defence. 

Briefly,  shorn  of  rhetoric,  their  arguments  were  as  follows, 
and  there  was  no  doubt  that,  on  the  whole,  they  had  the 
effect  of  quieting  the  amazed  revolt  of  the  more  senti- 
mental minds. 

Peace,  it  was  pointed  out,  had  for  the  first  time  in  the 
world's  history  become  an  universal  fact.  There  was  no 
longer  one  State,  however  small,  whose  interests  were  not 
identical  with  those  of  one  of  the  three  divisions  of  the 
world  of  which  it  was  a  dependency,  and  that  first  stage 
had  been  accomplished  nearly  half-a-century  ago.  But  the 
second  stage — the  reunion  of  these  three  divisions  under  a 
common  head — an  infinitely  greater  achievement  than  the 
former,   since   the   conflicting   interests   were    incalculably 


288  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

more  vast — this  had  been  consummated  by  a  single  Person, 
Who,  it  appeared,  had  emerged  from  humanity  at  the  very 
instant  when  such  a  Character  was  demanded.  It  was 
surely  not  much  to  ask  that  those  on  whom  these  benefits 
had  come  should  assent  to  the  will  and  judgment  of  Him 
through  whom  they  had  come.  This,  then,  was  an  appeal 
to  faith. 

The  second  main  argument  was  addressed  to  reason. 
Persecution,  as  all  enlightened  persons  confessed,  was  the 
method  of  a  majority  of  savages  who  desired  to  force  a 
set  of  opinions  upon  a  minority  who  did  not  spontaneously 
share  them.  Now  the  peculiar  malevolence  of  persecution 
in  the  past  lay,  not  in  the  employment  of  force,  but  in  the 
abuse  of  it.  That  any  one  kingdom  should  dictate  religious 
opinions  to  a  minority  of  its  members  was  an  intolerable 
tyranny,  for  no  one  State  possessed  the  right  to  lay  down 
universal  laws,  the  contrary  to  which  might  be  held  by  its 
neighbour.  This,  however,  disguised,  was  nothing  else 
than  the  Lidividualism  of  Nations,  a  heresy  even  more  dis- 
astrous to  the  commonwealth  of  the  world  than  the  Indi- 
vidualism of  the  Individual.  But  with  the  arrival  of  the 
universal  community  of  interests  the  whole  situation  was 
changed.  The  single  personality  of  the  human  race  had 
succeeded  to  the  incoherence  of  divided  units,  and  with  that 
consummation — which  might  be  compared  to  a  coming  of 
age,  an  entirely  new  set  of  rights  had  come  into  being. 
The  human  race  was  now  a  single  entity  with  a  supreme 
responsibility  towards  itself;  there  were  no  longer  any 
private  rights  at  all,  such  as  had  certainly  existed,  in  the 
period  previous  to  this.  Man  now  possessed  dominion  over 
every  cell  which  composed  His  Mystical  Body,  and  where 


THE  VICTORY  289 

any  such  cell  asserted  itself  to  the  detriment  of  the  Body, 
the  rights  of  the  whole  were  unqualified. 

And  there  was  no  religion  but  one  that  claimed  the  equal 
rights  of  universal  jurisdiction — and  that  the  Catholic. 
The  sects  of  the  East,  while  each  retained  characteristics 
of  its  own,  had  yet  found  in  the  New  Man  the  incarnation 
of  their  ideals,  and  had  therefore  given  in  their  allegiance 
to  the  authority  of  the  whole  Body  of  whom  He  was  Head. 
But  the  very  essence  of  the  Catholic  Religion  was  treason 
to  the  very  idea  of  man.  Christians  directed  their  homage 
to  a  supposed  supernatural  Being  who  was  not  only — so 
they  claimed — outside  of  the  world  but  positively  tran- 
scended it.  Christians,  then — leaving  aside  the  mad  fable 
of  the  Incarnation,  which  might  very  well  be  suffered  to  die 
of  its  own  folly — deliberately  severed  themselves  from  that 
Body  of  which  by  human  generation  they  had  been  made 
members.  They  were  as  mortified  limbs  yielding  themselves 
to  the  domination  of  an  outside  force  other  than  that  which 
was  their  only  life,  and  by  that  very  act  imperilled  the  en- 
tire Body.  This  madness,  then,  was  the  one  crime  which 
still  deserved  the  name.  Murder,  theft,  rape,  even  anarchy 
itself,  were  as  trifling  faults  compared  to  this  monstrous 
sin,  for  while  these  injured  indeed  the  Body  they  did  not 
strike  at  its  heart — individuals  suffered,  and  therefore  those 
minor  criminals  deserved  restraint ;  but  the  very  Life  was 
not  struck  at.  But  in  Christianity  there  was  a  poison  actu- 
ally deadly.  Every  cell  that  became  infected  with  it  was 
infected  in  that  very  fibre  that  bound  it  to  the  spring  of 
life.  This,  and  this  alone,  was  the  supreme  crime  of  High 
Treason  against  man — and  nothing  but  complete  removal 
from  the  world  could  be  an  adequate  remedy. 


290  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

These,  then,  were  the  main  arguments  addressed  to  that 
section  of  the  world  which  still  recoiled  from  the  deliberate 
utterance  of  Felsenburgh,  and  their  success  had  been  re- 
markable. Of  course,  the  logic,  in  itself  indisputable,  had 
been  dressed  in  a  variety  of  costumes  gilded  with  rhetoric, 
flushed  with  passion,  and  it  had  done  its  work  in  such  a 
manner  that  as  summer  drew  on  Felsenburgh  had  an- 
nounced privately  that  he  proposed  to  introduce  a  bill 
which  should  carry  out  to  its  logical  conclusion  the  policy 
of  which  he  had  spoken. 

Now,  this  too,  had  been  accomplished.  ^ 


II 


Oliver  let  himself  into  his  house,  and  went  straight  up- 
stairs to  Mabel's  room.  It  would  not  do  to  let  her  hear 
the  news  from  any  but  his  own  lips.  She  was  not  there,  and 
on  inquiry  he  heard  that  she  had  gone  out  an  hour  before. 

He  was  disconcerted  at  this.  The  decree  had  been  signed 
half-an-hour  earlier,  and  in  answer  to  an  inquiry  from  Lord 
Pemberton  it  had  been  stated  that  there  was  no  longer  any 
reason  for  secrecy,  and  that  the  decision  might  be  com- 
municated to  the  press.  Oliver  had  hurried  away  immedi- 
ately in  order  to  make  sure  that  Mabel  should  hear  the 
news  from  him,  and  now  she  was  out,  and  at  any  moment 
the  placards  might  tell  her  of  what  had  been  done. 

He  felt  extremely  uneasy,  but  for  another  hour  or  so  was 
ashamed  to  act.  Then  he  went  to  the  tube  and  asked  an- 
other question  or  two,  but  the  servant  had  no  idea  of 
Mabel's   movements ;    it   might   be   she   had   gone   to   the 


THE  VICTORY  291 

church ;  sometimes  she  did  at  this  hour.  He  sent  the  woman 
off  to  see,  and  himself  sat  down  again  in  the  window-seat 
of  his  wife's  room,  staring  out  disconsolately  at  the  wide 
array  of  roofs  in  the  golden  sunset  light,  that  seemed  to 
his  eyes  to  be  strangely  beautiful  this  evening.  The  sky 
was  not  that  pure  gold  which  it  had  been  every  night  dur- 
ing this  last  week ;  there  was  a  touch  of  rose  in  it,  and  this 
extended  across  the  entire  vault  so  far  as  he  could  see  from 
west  to  east.  He  reflected  on  what  he  had  lately  read  in 
an  old  book  to  the  effect  that  the  abolition  of  smoke  had 
certainly  changed  evening  colours  for  the  worse.  .  .  . 
There  had  been  a  couple  of  severe  earthquakes,  too, 
in  America — he  wondered  whether  there  was  any  connec- 
tion.  .    .    .  Then  his  thoughts  flew  back  to  Mabel.   .    .    . 

It  was  about  ten  minutes  before  he  heard  her  footstep  on 
the  stairs,  and  as  he  stood  up  she  came  in. 

There  was  something  in  her  face  that  told  him  that  she 
knew  everything,  and  his  heart  sickened  at  her  pale  rigid- 
ity. There  was  no  fury  there — nothing  but  white,  hopeless 
despair,  and  an  immense  determination.  Her  lips  showed  a 
straight  line,  and  her  ejes,  beneath  her  white  summer  hat, 
seemed  contracted  to  pinpricks.  She  stood  there,  closing 
the  door  mechanically  behind  her,  and  made  no  further 
movement  towards  him. 

"Is  it  true?"  she  said. 

Oliver  drew  one  steady  breath,  and  sat  down  again. 

"Is  what  true,  my  dear?" 

"Is  it  true,"  she  said  again,  "that  all  are  to  be  questioned 
as  to  whether  they  believe  in  God,  and  to  be  killed  if  they 
confess  it?" 

Oliver  licked  his  dry  lips. 


292  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"You  put  it  very  harshly,"  he  said.  "The  question  is, 
whether  the  world  has  a  right " 

She  made  a  sharp  movement  with  her  head. 

"It  is  true  then.     And  you  signed  it.?" 

"My  dear,  I  beg  you  not  to  make  a  scene.  I  am  tired  out. 
And  I  will  not  answer  that  until  you  have  heard  what  I 
have  to  say." 

"Say  it,  then." 

"Sit  down,  then." 

She  shook  her  head. 

"Very  well,  then.  .  .  .  Well,  this  is  the  point.  The  world 
is  one  now,  not  many.  Individualism  is  dead.  It  died  when 
Felsenburgh  became  President  of  the  World.  You  surely 
see  that  absolutely  new  conditions  prevail  now — there  has 
never  been  anything  like  it  before.  You  know  all  this  as 
well  as  I  do." 

Again  came  that  jerk  of  impatience. 

"You  will  please  to  hear  me  out,"  he  said  wearily.  "Well, 
now  that  this  has  happened,  there  is  a  new  morality ;  it  is 
exactly  like  a  child  coming  to  the  age  of  reason.  We  are 
obliged,  therefore,  to  see  that  this  continues — that  there  is 
no  going  back  —  no  mortification  —  that  all  the  limbs  are 
in  good  health.  'If  thy  hand  offend  thee,  cut  it  off,'  said 
Jesus  Christ.  Well,  that  is  what  we  say.  .  .  .  Now,  for  any 
one  to  say  that  they  believe  in  God — I  doubt  very  much 
whether  there  is  any  one  who  really  does  believe,  or  under- 
stand what  it  means — but  for  any  one  even  to  say  so  is  the 
very  worst  crime  conceivable :  it  is  high  treason.  But  there 
is  going  to  be  no  violence ;  it  will  all  be  quite  quiet  and 
merciful.  Why,  you  have  always  approved  of  Euthanasia, 
as  we  all  do.     Well,  it  is  that  that  will  be  used ;  and " 


THE  VICTORY  293 

Once  more  she  made  a  little  movement  with  her  hand.  The 
rest  of  her  was  like  an  image. 

"Is  this  any  use.'"'  she  asked. 

Oliver  stood  up.  He  could  not  bear  the  hardness  of  her 
voice. 

"Mabel,  my  darling " 

For  an  instant  her  lips  shook;  then  again  she  looked  at 
him  with  eyes  of  ice. 

"I  don't  want  that,"  she  said.  "It  is  of  no  use.  .  .  . 
Then  you  did  sign  it.'"' 

Oliver  had  a  sense  of  miserable  desperation  as  he  looked 
back  at  her.  He  would  infinitely  have  preferred  that  she 
had  stormed  and  wept. 

"Mabel "  he  cried  again.  ' 

"Then  you  did  sign  it.'"'  ... 

"I  did  sign  it,"  he  said  at  last. 

She  turned  and  went  towards  the  door.  He  sprang  after 
her. 

"Mabel,  where  are  you  going?" 

Then,  for  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  lied  to  her  husband 
frankly  and  fully. 

"I  am  going  to  rest  a  little,"  she  said.  "I  shall  see  you 
presently  at  supper." 

He  still  hesitated,  but  she  met  his  eyes,  pale  indeed,  but 
so  honest  that  he  fell  back. 

"Very  well,  my  dear.  .  .  .  Mabel,  try  to  under- 
stand." 

He  came  down  to  supper  half-an-hour  later,  primed  with 
logic,  and  even  kindled  with  emotion.  The  argument 
seemed  to   him    now   so   utterly   convincing ;   granted  the 


LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

premises  that  they  both  accepted  and  lived  by,  the  con- 
clusion was  simpl}^  inevitable. 

Pie  waited  a  minute  or  two,  and  at  last  went  to  the  tube 
that  communicated  with  the  servants'  quarters. 

"Where  is  Mrs.  Brand.'"'  he  asked. 

There  was  an  instant's  silence,  and  then  the  answer  came: 

"She  left  the  house  half-an-hour  ago,  sir.  I  thought  you 
knew." 


Ill 


That  same  evening  Mr.  Francis  was  very  busy  in  his  office 
over  the  details  connected  with  the  festival  of  Sustenance 
that  was  to  be  celebrated  on  the  first  of  July.  It  was  the 
first  time  that  the  particular  ceremony  had  taken  place,  and 
he  was  anxious  that  it  should  be  as  successful  as  its  prede- 
cessors. There  were  a  few  differences  between  this  and  the 
others,  and  it  was  necessary  that  the  ceremoniarli  should  be 
fully  instructed. 

So,  with  his  model  before  him — a  miniature  replica  of  the 
interior  of  the  Abbey,  with  tiny  dummy  figures  on  blocks 
that  could  be  shifted  this  way  and  that,  he  was  engaged 
in  adding  in  a  minute  ecclesiastical  hand  rubrical  notes  to 
his  copy  of  the  Order  of  Proceedings. 

When  the  porter  therefore  rang  up  a  little  after  twenty- 
one  o'clock,  that  a  lady  wished  to  see  him,  he  answered 
rather  brusquely  down  the  tube  that  it  was  impossible.  But 
the  bell  rang  again,  and  to  his  impatient  question,  the  reply 
came  up  that  it  was  Mrs.  Brand  below,  and  that  she  did 
'lot  ask  for  more  than  ten  minutes'  conversation.     This  was 


THE  VICTORY  295 

quite  another  matter.  Oliver  Brand  was  an  important  per- 
sonage, and  his  wife  therefore  had  significance,  and 
Mr.  Francis  apologised,  gave  directions  that  she  was  to 
come  to  his  ante-room,  and  rose,  sighing,  from  his  dummy 
Abbey  and  officials. 

She  seemed  very  quiet  this  evening,  he  thought,  as  he 
shook  hands  with  her  a  minute  later;  she  wore  her  veil 
down,  so  that  he  could  not  see  her  face  very  well,  but  her 
voice  seemed  to  lack  its  usual  vivacity. 

"I  am  so  sorry  to  interrupt  you,  Mr.  Francis,"  she  said. 
"I  only  want  to  ask  you  one  or  two  questions." 

He  smiled  at  her  encouragingly. 

"Mr.  Brand,  no  doubt " 

"No,"  she  said,  "Mr.  Brand  has  not  sent  me.  It  is  en- 
tirely my  own  affair.  You  will  see  my  reasons  presently. 
I  will  begin  at  once.     I  know  I  must  not  keep  you." 

It  all  seemed  rather  odd,  he  thought,  but  no  doubt  he 
would  understand  soon. 

"First,"  she  said,  "I  think  you  used  to  know  Father 
Franklin.     He  became  a  Cardinal,  didn't  he.''" 

Mr.  Francis  assented,  smiling. 

"Do  you  know  if  he  is  alive?" 

"No,"  he  said.  "He  is  dead.  He  was  in  Rome,  you  know, 
at  the  time  of  its  destruction." 

"Ah!    You  are  sure?" 

"Quite  sure.  Only  one  Cardinal  escaped  —  Steinmann. 
He  was  hanged  in  Berlin ;  and  the  Patriarch  of  Jerusalem 
died  a  week  or  two  later." 

*'Ah !  very  well.  Well,  now,  here  is  a  very  odd  question. 
I  ask  for  a  particular  reason,  which  I  cannot  explain,  but 


296  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

you  will  soon  understand.  .  .  .  It  is  this — Why  do  Catho- 
lics believe  in  God?" 

He  was  so  much  taken  aback  that  for  a  moment  he  sat 
staring. 

"Yes,"  she  said  tranquilly,  "it  is  a  very  odd  question. 
But—"  she  hesitated.  "Well,  I  will  tell  you,"  she  said. 
"The  fact  is,  that  I  have  a  friend  who  is — is  in  danger 
from  this  new  law.  I  want  to  be  able  to  argue  with  her; 
and  I  must  know  her  side.  You  are  the  only  priest — I  mean 
who  has  been  a  priest — whom  I  ever  knew,  except  Father 
Franklin.     So  I  thought  you  would  not  mind  telling  me." 

Her  voice  was  entirely  natural ;  there  was  not  a  tremor 
or  a  falter  in  it.  Mr.  Francis  smiled  genially,  rubbing  his 
hands  softly  together. 

"Ah!"  he  said.  "Yes,  I  see.  .  .  .  Well,  that  is  a  very 
large  question.     Would  not  to-morrow,  perhaps .''" 

"I  only  want  just  the  shortest  answer,"  she  said.  "It 
is  really  important  for  me  to  know  at  once.  You  see,  this 
new  law  comes  into  force " 

He  nodded. 

"Well — very  briefly,  I  should  say  this :  Catholics  say  that 
God  can  be  perceived  by  reason ;  that  from  the  arrange- 
ments of  the  world  they  can  deduce  that  there  must  have 
been  an  Arranger — a  Mind,  you  understand.  Then  they 
say  that  they  deduce  other  things  about  God — that  He  is 
Love,  for  example,  because  of  happiness " 

"And  the  pain?"  she  interrupted. 

He  smiled  again. 

"Yes.    That  is  the  point — that  is  the  weak  point." 

"But  what  do  they  say  about  that?" 

"Well,  briefly,  they  say  that  pain  is  the  result  of  sin " 


THE  VICTORY  297 

"And  sin?    You  see,  I  know  nothing  at  all,  Mr.  Francis." 

"Well,  sin  is  the  rebellion  of  man's  will  against  God's." 

"What  do  they  mean  by  that?" 

"Well,  you  see,  they  say  that  God  wanted  to  be  loved  by 
His  creatures,  so  He  made  them  free ;  otherwise  they  could 
not  really  love.  But  if  they  were  free,  it  means  that  they 
could  if  they  liked  refuse  to  love  and  obey  God ;  and  that 
is  what  is  called  Sin.     You  see  what  nonsense " 

She  jerked  her  head  a  little. 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  said.  "But  I  really  want  to  get  at  what 
they  think.  .   .   .  Well,  then,  that  is  all?" 

Mr.  Francis  pursed  his  lips. 

"Scarcely,"  he  said ;  "that  is  hardly  more  than  what  they 
call  Natural  Religion.  Catholics  believe  much  more  than 
that." 

"Well?" 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Brand,  it  is  impossible  to  put  it  in  a  few 
words.  But,  in  brief,  they  believe  that  God  became  man — 
that  Jesus  was  God,  and  that  He  did  this  in  order  to  save 
them  from  sin  by  dying " 

"By  bearing  pain,  you  mean?" 

"Yes ;  by  dying.  Well,  what  they  call  the  Incarnation 
is  really  the  point.  Everything  else  flows  from  that.  And, 
once  a  man  believes  that,  I  must  confess  that  all  the  rest 
follows — even  down  to  scapulars  and  holy  water." 

"Mr.  Francis,  I  don't  understand  a  word  you're  saying." 

He  smiled  indulgently. 

"Of  course  not,"  he  said;  "it  is  all  incredible  nonsense. 
But,  you  know,  I  did  really  believe  it  all  once." 

"But  it's  unreasonable,"  she  said. 

He  made  a  little  demurring  sound. 


298  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "in  one  sense,  of  course  it  is — utterly  un- 
reasonable.    But  in  another  sense " 

She  leaned  forward  suddcnl}^  and  he  could  catch  the  glint 
of  her  eyes  beneath  her  white  veil. 

"Ah !"  she  said,  almost  breathlessly.  "That  is  what  I 
want  to  hear.     Now,  tell  me  how  they  justify  it." 

He  paused  an  instant,  considering. 

"Well,"  he  said  slowly,  "as  far  as  I  remember,  the}'  say 
that  there  are  other  faculties  besides  those  of  reason.  They 
say,  for  example,  that  the  heart  sometimes  finds  out  things 
that  the  reason  cannot — intuitions,  you  see.  For  instance, 
they  say  that  all  things  such  as  self-sacrifice  and  chivalry 
and  even  art — all  come  from  the  heart,  that  Reason  comes 
with  them — in  rules  of  technique,  for  instance — but  that  it 
cannot  prove  them ;  they  are  quite  apart  from  that." 

"I  think  I  see." 

"Well,  they  say  that  Religion  is  like  that — in  other  words, 
they  practically  confess  that  it  is  merely  a  matter  of  emo- 
tion." He  paused  again,  trying  to  be  fair.  "Well,  per- 
haps they  would  not  say  that — although  it  is  true.  But 
briefly " 

"Well?" 

"Well,  they  say  there  is  a  thing  called  Faith — a  kind  of 
deep  conviction  unlike  anything  else — supernatural — which 
God  is  supposed  to  give  to  people  who  desire  it — to  people 
who  pray  for  it,  and  lead  good  lives,  and  so  on " 

"And  this  Faith.?" 

"Well,  this  Faith,  acting  upon  what  they  call  Evidences — 
this  Faith  makes  them  absolutely  certain  that  there  is  a 
God,  that  He  was  made  man  and  so  on,  with  the  Church 
and  all  the  rest  of  it.     They  say  too  that  this  is  further 


THE  VICTORY  299 

proved  by  the  effect  that  their  religion  has  had  in  the  world, 
and  by  the  way  it  explains  man's  nature  to  himself.  You 
see,  it  is  just  a  case  of  self-suggestion." 

He  heard  her  sigh,  and  stopped. 

"Is  that  any  clearer,  Mrs.  Brand.?" 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  she  said,  "it  certainly  is  clearer. 

.  .  .  And  it  is  true  that  Christians  have  died  for  this  Faith, 
whatever  it  is  .f*" 

"Oh !  yes.  Thousands  and  thousands.  Just  as  Moham- 
medans have  for  theirs." 

"The  Mohammedans  believe  in  God,  too,  don't  they?" 

"Well,  they  did,  and  I  suppose  that  a  few  do  now.  But 
very  few :  the  rest  have  become  esoteric,  as  they  say." 

"And — and  which  would  you  say  were  the  most  highly 
evolved  people — East  or  West.?" 

"Oh !  West  undoubtedly.  The  East  thinks  a  good  deal, 
but  it  doesn't  act  much.  And  that  always  leads  to  con- 
fusion— even  to  stagnation  of  thought." 

"And  Christianity  certainly  has  been  the  Religion  of  the 
West  up  to  a  hundred  years  ago.?" 

"Oh!  yes." 

She  was  silent  then,  and  ]\Ir.  Francis  had  time  again  to 
reflect  how  very  odd  all  this  was.  She  certainly  must  be 
very  much  attached  to  this  Christian  friend  of  hers. 

Then  she  stood  up,  and  he  rose  with  her. 

"Thank  you  so  much,  Mr.  Francis.  .  .  .  Then  that  is  the 
kind  of  outline.?" 

"Well,  yes ;  so  far  as  one  can  put  it  in  a  few  words." 

"Thank  you.  ...  I  mustn't  keep  you." 

He  went  with  her  towards  the  door.  But  within  a  yard 
of  it  she  stopped. 


300  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"And  you,  Mr.  Francis.  You  were  brought  up  in  all 
this.     Does  it  ever  come  back  to  you?" 

He  smiled. 

"Never,"  he  said,  "except  as  a  dream." 

"How  do  you  account  for  that,  then?  If  it  is  all  self- 
suggestion,  you  have  had  thirty  years  of  it." 

She  paused;  and  for  a  moment  he  hesitated  what  to  an- 
swer. 

"How  would  your  old  fellow-Catholics  account  for  it?" 

"They  would  say  that  I  had  forfeited  hght — that  Faith 
was  withdrawn." 

"And  you?" 

Again  he  paused. 

"I  should  say  that  I  had  made  a  stronger  self-suggestion 
the  other  way." 

"I  see.  .  .   .  Good-night,  Mr.  Francis." 

She  would  not  let  him  come  down  the  lift  with  her,  so  when 
he  had  seen  the  smooth  box  drop  noiselessly  below  the  level, 
he  went  back  again  to  his  model  of  the  Abbey  and  the  little 
dummy  figures.  But,  before  he  began  to  move  these  about 
again,  he  sat  for  a  moment  or  two  with  pursed  lips,  staring. 


CHAPTER  IV 


A  WEEK  later  Mabel  awoke  about  dawn ;  and  for  a  moment 
or  two  forgot  where  she  was.  She  even  spoke  Oliver's  name 
aloud,  staring  round  the  unfamiliar  room,  wondering  what 
she  did  here.    Then  she  remembered,  and  was  silent.  .   .   . 

It  was  the  eighth  day  she  had  spent  in  this  Home;  her 
probation  was  finished:  to-day  she  was  at  liberty  to  do 
that  for  which  she  had  come.  On  the  Saturday  of  the 
previous  week  she  had  gone  through  her  private  examina- 
tion before  the  magistrate,  stating  under  the  usual  condi- 
tions of  secrecy  her  name,  age  and  home,  as  well  as  her 
reasons  for  making  the  application  for  Euthanasia ;  and  all 
had  passed  off  well.  She  had  selected  Manchester  as  being 
sufficiently  remote  and  sufficiently  large  to  secure  her  free- 
dom from  Oliver's  molestation ;  and  her  secret  had  been  ad- 
mirably kept.  There  was  not  a  hint  that  her  husband  knew 
anything  of  her  intentions ;  for,  after  all,  in  these  cases  the 
police  were  bound  to  assist  the  fugitive.  Individualism 
was  at  least  so  far  recognised  as  to  secure  to  those  weary  of 
life  the  right  of  relinquishing  it.  She  scarcely  knew  why 
she  had  selected  this  method,  except  that  any  other  seemed 
impossible.  The  knife  required  skill  and  resolution ;  fire- 
arms were  unthinkable,  and  poison,  under  the  new  stringent 
regulations,  was  hard  to  obtain.  Besides,  she  seriously 
wished  to  test  her  own  intentions,  and  to  be  quite  sure  that 
there  was  no  other  way  than  this.  .    .    . 


302  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

Well,  she  was  as  certain  as  ever.  Thethoughthad  first  come 
to  her  in  the  mad  misery  of  the  outbreak  of  violence  on  the 
last  day  of  the  old  year.  Then  it  had  gone  again,  soothed 
away  by  the  arguments  that  man  was  still  liable  to  relapse. 

Then  once  more  it  had  recurred,  a  cold  and  convincing 
phantom,  in  the  plain  daylight  revealed  by  Felsenburgh's 
Declaration.  It  had  taken  up  its  abode  with  her  then, 
yet  she  controlled  it,  hoping  against  hope  that  the  Declara- 
tion would  not  be  carried  into  action,  occasionally  revolting 
against  its  horror.  Yet  it  had  never  been  far  away ;  and 
finally  when  the  policy  sprouted  into  deliberate  law,  she 
had  yielded  herself  resolutely  to  its  suggestion.  That  was 
eight  days  ago ;  and  she  had  not  had  one  moment  of  falter- 
ing since  that. 

Yet  she  had  ceased  to  condemn.  The  logic  had  silenced 
her.  All  that  she  kneAv  was  that  she  could  not  bear  it ;  that 
she  had  misconceived  the  New  Faith;  that  for  her,  what- 
ever it  was  for  others,  there  was  no  hope.  .  .  .  She  had 
not  even  a  child  of  her  own. 

Those  eight  days,  required  b}'^  law,  had  passed  very  peace- 
fully. She  had  taken  with  her  enough  money  to  enter  one  of 
the  private  homes  furnished  with  suflficient  comfort  to  save 
from  distractions  those  who  had  been  accustomed  to  gentle 
living:  the  nurses  had  been  pleasant  and  sympathetic;  she 
had  nothing  to  complain  of. 

She  had  suffered,  of  course,  to  some  degree  from  reactions. 
The  second  night  after  her  arrival  had  been  terrible,  when, 
as  she  lay  in  bed  in  the  hot  darkness,  her  whole  sentient  life 
had  protested  and  struggled  against  the  fate  her  will  or- 
dained.      It    had    demanded    the    familiar    things  —  the 


THE  VICTORY  303 

promise  of  food  and  breath  and  human  intercourse ;  it  had 
writhed  in  horror  against  the  bHnd  dark  towards  which  it 
moved  so  inevitably ;  and,  in  the  agony  had  been  pacified 
only  by  the  half-hinted  promise  of  some  deeper  voice  sug- 
gesting that  death  was  not  the  end.  With  morning  light 
sanity  had  come  back ;  the  will  had  reassumed  the  mastery, 
and,  with  it,  had  withdrawn  explicitly  the  implied  hope  of 
continued  existence.  She  had  suffered  again  for  an  hour  or 
two  from  a  more  concrete  fear;  the  memory  came  back  to 
her  of  those  shocking  revelations  that  ten  years  ago  had 
convulsed  England  and  brought  about  the  establishment  of 
these  Homes  under  Government  supervision  —  those  evi- 
dences that  for  years  in  the  great  vivisection-laboratories 
human  subjects  had  been  practised  upon  —  persons  who 
with  the  same  intentions  as  herself  had  cut  themselves  off 
from  the  world  in  private  euthanasia-houses,  to  whom  had 
been  supplied  a  gas  that  suspended  instead  of  destroying 
animation.  .  .  .  But  this,  too,  had  passed  with  the  return 
of  light.  Such  things  were  impossible  now  under  the  new 
system — at  least,  in  England.  She  had  refrained  from 
making  an  end  upon  the  Continent  for  this  very  reason. 
There,  where  sentiment  was  weaker,  and  logic  more  imperi- 
ous, materialism  was  more  consistent.  Since  men  were  but 
animals — the  conclusion  was  inevitable. 

There  had  been  but  one  physical  drawback,  the  intolerable 
heat  of  the  days  and  nights.  It  seemed,  scientists  said, 
that  an  entirely  unexpected  heat-wave  had  been  generated ; 
there  were  a  dozen  theories,  most  of  which  were  mutually 
exclusive  one  of  another.  It  was  humiliating,  she  thought, 
that  men  who  professed  to  have  taken  the  earth  under 
their  charge  should  be  so  completely  baffled.     The  condi- 


304  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

tions  of  the  weather  had  of  course  been  accompanied  by 
disasters ;  there  had  been  earthquakes  of  astonishing  vio- 
lence, a  ripple  had  wrecked  not  less  than  twenty-five  towns 
in  America ;  an  island  or  two  had  disappeared,  and  that  be- 
wildering Vesuvius  seemed  to  be  working  up  for  a  denoue- 
ment. But  no  one  knew  really  the  explanation.  One  man 
had  been  wild  enough  to  say  that  some  cataclysm  had  taken 
place  in  the  centre  of  the  earth.  ...  So  she  had  heard 
from  her  nurse ;  but  she  was  not  greatly  interested.  It  was 
only  tiresome  that  she  could  not  walk  much  in  the  gar- 
den, and  had  to  be  content  with  sitting  in  her  own  cool 
shaded  room  on  the  second  floor. 

There  was  only  one  other  matter  of  which  she  had  asked, 
namely,  the  effect  of  the  new  decree ;  but  the  nurse  did 
not  seem  to  know  much  about  that.  It  appeared  that  there 
had  been  an  outrage  or  two,  but  the  law  had  not  yet  been 
enforced  to  any  great  extent ;  a  week,  after  all,  was  a  short 
time,  even  though  the  decree  had  taken  effect  at  once,  and 
magistrates  were  beginning  the  prescribed  census. 

It  seemed  to  her  as  she  lay  awake  this  morning,  staring 
at  the  tinted  ceiling,  and  out  now  and  again  at  the  quiet 
little  room,  that  the  heat  was  worse  than  ever.  For  a  min- 
ute she  thought  she  must  have  overslept ;  but,  as  she  touched 
her  repeater,  it  told  her  that  it  was  scarcely  after  four 
o'clock.  Well,  well ;  she  would  not  have  to  bear  it  much 
longer;  she  thought  that  about  eight  it  would  be  time  to 
make  an  end.  There  was  her  letter  to  Oliver  yet  to  be  writ- 
ten ;  and  one  or  two  final  arrangements  to  be  made. 

As  regarded  the  morality  of  what  she  was  doing — the  rela- 
tion, that  is  to  say,  which  her  act  bore  to  the  common  life 


THE  VICTORY  305 

of  man — she  had  no  shadow  of  doubt.  It  was  her  belief, 
as  of  the  whole  Humanitarian  world,  that  just  as  bodily 
pain  occasionally  justified  this  termination  of  life,  so  also 
did  mental  pain.  There  was  a  certain  pitch  of  distress  at 
which  the  individual  was  no  longer  necessary  to  himself  or 
the  world ;  it  was  the  most  charitable  act  that  could  be  per- 
formed. But  she  had  never  thought  in  old  days  that  that 
state  could  ever  be  hers  ;  Life  had  been  much  too  interesting. 
But  it  had  come  to  this :  there  was  no  question  of  it. 

Perhaps  a  dozen  times  in  that  week  she  had  thought  over 
her  conversation  with  Mr.  Francis.  Her  going  to  him 
had  been  little  more  than  instinctive;  she  did  just  wish  to 
hear  what  the  other  side  was — whether  Christianity  was  as 
ludicrous  as  she  had  always  thought.  It  seemed  that  it  was 
not  ludicrous ;  it  was  only  terribly  pathetic.  It  was  just  a 
lovely  dream — an  exquisite  piece  of  poetry.  It  would  be 
heavenly  to  believe  it,  but  she  did  not.  No — a  transcendent 
God  was  unthinkable,  although  not  quite  so  unthinkable 
as  a  merely  immeasurable  Man.  And  as  for  the  Incarna- 
tion— well,  well! 

There  seemed  no  way  out  of  it.  The  Humanity-Religion 
was  the  only  one.  Man  was  God,  or  at  least  His  highest 
manifestation ;  and  He  was  a  God  with  which  she  did  not 
wish  to  have  anything  more  to  do.  These  faint  new  instincts 
after  something  other  than  intellect  and  emotion  were,  she 
knew  perfectly  well,  nothing  but  refined  emotion  itself. 

She  had  thought  a  great  deal  of  Felsenburgh,  however, 
and  was  astonished  at  her  own  feelings.  He  was  certainly 
the  most  impressive  man  she  had  ever  seen ;  it  did  seem  very 
probable  indeed  that  He  was  what  He  claimed  to  be — ^the 


306  LORD  OP  THE  WORLD 

Incarnation  of  the  ideal  Man  the  first  perfect  product  of 
humanity.  But  the  logic  of  his  position  was  too  much  for 
her.  She  saw  now  that  He  was  perfectly  logical — that  He 
had  not  been  inconsistent  in  denouncing  the  destruction  of 
Rome  and  a  week  later  making  His  declaration.  It  was  the 
passion  of  one  man  against  another  that  He  denounced — of 
kingdom  against  kingdom,  and  sect  against  sect — for  this 
was  suicidal  for  the  race.  He  denounced  passion,  too,  not 
judicial  action.  Therefore,  this  new  decree  was  as  logical 
as  Himself — it  was  a  judicial  act  on  the  part  of  an  united 
world  against  a  tiny  majority  that  threatened  the  prin- 
ciple of  life  and  faith :  and  it  was  to  be  carried  out  with 
supreme  mercy ;  there  was  no  revenge  or  passion  or  partisan 
spirit  in  it  from  beginning  to  end ;  no  more  than  a  man  is 
revengeful  or  passionate  when  he  amputates  a  diseased 
limb — Oliver  had  convinced  her  of  that. 

Yes,  it  was  logical  and  sound.  And  it  was  because  it  was 
so  that  she  could  not  bear  it.  .  .  .  But  ah !  what  a  sublime 
man  Felsenburgh  was;  it  was  a  joy  to  her  even  to  recall 
his  speeches  and  his  personality.  She  would  have  liked  to 
see  him  again.  But  it  was  no  good.  She  had  better  be 
done  with  it  as  tranquilly  as  possible.  And  the  world  must 
go  forward  without  her.    She  was  just  tired  out  with  Facts. 

She  dozed  off  again  presently,  and  it  seemed  scarcely  five 
minutes  before  she  looked  up  to  see  a  gentle  smiling  face 
of  a  white-capped  nurse  bending  over  her. 

"It  is  nearly  six  o'clock,  my  dear — the  time  you  told  me. 
I  came  to  see  about  breakfast." 

Mabel  drew  a  long  breath.  Then  she  sat  up  suddenly, 
throwing  back  the  sheet. 


THE  VICTORY  307 

II 

It  struck  a  quarter-past  six  from  the  little  clock  on  the 
mantel-shelf  as  she  laid  down  her  pen.  Then  she  took  up 
the  closely  written  sheets,  leaned  back  in  her  deep  chair, 
and  began  to  read. 

"Home  of  Rest, 

"No  3a  Manchester  West. 

"My  Dear  :  I  am  very  sorry,  but  it  has  come  back  to  me. 
I  really  cannot  go  on  any  longer,  so  I  am  going  to  escape 
in  the  only  way  left,  as  I  once  told  you.  I  have  had  a  very 
quiet  and  happy  time  here ;  they  have  been  most  kind  and 
considerate.  You  see,  of  course,  from  the  heading  on  this 
paper,  what  I  mean.  .    .    . 

"Well,  you  have  always  been  very  dear  to  me ;  you  are 
still,  even  at  this  moment.  So  you  have  a  right  to  know  my 
reasons  so  far  as  I  know  them  myself.  It  is  very  difficult 
to  understand  myself;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  I  am  not 
strong  enough  to  live.  So  long  as  I  was  pleased  and  ex- 
cited it  was  all  very  well^ — especially  when  He  came.  But 
I  think  I  had  expected  it  to  be  different ;  I  did  not  under- 
stand as  I  do  now  how  it  must  come  to  this — how  it  is  all 
quite  logical  and  right.  I  could  bear  it,  when  I  thought 
that  they  had  acted  through  passion,  but  this  is  deliberate. 
I  did  not  realise  that  Peace  must  have  its  laws,  and  must 
protect  itself.  And,  somehow,  that  Peace  is  not  what  I 
want.     It  is  being  alive  at  all  that  is  wrong. 

"Then  there  is  this  difficulty.  I  know  how  absolutely  in 
agreement  you  are  Avith  this  new  state  of  affairs;  of  course 
you  are,  because  you  are  so  much  stronger  and  more  logical 
than  I  am.  But  if  3'ou  have  a  wife  she  must  be  of  one  mind 
with  you.  And  I  am  not,  any  more,  at  least  not  with  my 
heart,  though  I  see  vou  are  right.  ...  Do  you  understand, 
my  dear? 


308  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"If  we  had  had  a  child,  it  might  have  been  different.  I 
might  have  hked  to  go  on  hving  for  his  sake.  But  Hu- 
manity, somehow — Oh!     OHver!     I  can't — I  can't. 

"I  know  I  am  wrong,  and  that  you  are  right — but  there 
it  is ;  I  cannot  change  myself.  So  I  am  quite  sure  that 
I  must  go. 

"Then  I  want  to  tell  you  this — that  I  am  not  at  all  fright- 
ened. I  never  can  understand  why  people  are — unless,  of 
course,  they  are  Christians.  I  should  be  horribly  fright- 
ened if  I  was  one  of  them.  But,  you  see,  we  both  know 
that  there  is  nothing  beyond.  It  is  life  that  I  am  fright- 
ened of — not  death.  Of  course,  I  should  be  frightened  if 
there  was  any  pain ;  but,  the  doctors  tell  me  there  is  abso- 
lutely none.  It  is  simply  going  to  sleep.  The  nerves  are 
dead  before  the  brain.  I  am  going  to  do  it  myself.  I  don't 
want  any  one  else  in  the  room.  In  a  few  minutes  the  nurse 
here — Sister  Anne,  with  whom  I  have  made  great  friends — 
will  bring  in  the  thing,  and  then  she  will  leave  me. 

"As  regards  what  happens  afterwards,  I  do  not  mind  at 
all.  Please  do  exactly  what  you  wish.  The  cremation  will 
take  place  to-morrow  morning  at  noon,  so  that  you  can 
be  here  if  you  like.  Or  you  can  send  directions,  and  they 
will  send  on  the  urn  to  you.  I  know  you  liked  to  have  your 
mother's  urn  in  the  garden ;  so  perhaps  you  will  like  mine. 
Please  do  exactly  what  you  like.  And  with  all  my  things 
too.     Of  course  I  leave  them  to  you. 

"Now,  my  dear,  I  want  to  say  this — that  I  am  very  sorry 
indeed  now  that  I  was  so  tiresome  and  stupid.  I  think  I 
did  really  believe  your  arguments  all  along.  But  I  did 
not  want  to  believe  them.  Do  you  see  now  why  I  was  so 
tiresome.''   .    .    . 

"Oliver,  my  darling,  you  have  been  extraordinarily  good 
to  me.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  know  I  am  crying,  but  I  am  really  very 
happy.  This  is  such  a  lovely  ending.  I  wish  I  hadn't  been 
obliged  to  make  you  so  anxious  during  this  last  week:  but 
I  had  to — I  knew  you  would  persuade  me  against  it,  if 
you  found  me,  and  that  would  have  been  worse  than  ever. 


THE  VICTORY  309 

I  am  sorry  I  told  you  that  lie,  too.     Indeed,  it  is  the  first 
I  ever  did  tell  you. 

"Well,  I  don't  think  there  is  much  more  to  say.  Oliver, 
my  dear,  good-bye.     I  send  you  my  love  with  all  my  heart. 

"Mabel." 

She  sat  still  when  she  had  read  it  through,  and  her  eyes 
were  still  wet  with  tears.  Yet  it  was  all  perfectly  true. 
She  was  far  happier  than  she  could  be  if  she  had  still  the 
prospect  of  going  back.  Life  seemed  entirely  blank:  death 
was  so  obvious  an  escape ;  her  soul  ached  for  it,  as  a  body 
for  sleep. 

She  directed  the  envelope,  still  with  a  perfectly  steady 
hand,  laid  it  on  the  table,  and  leaned  back  once  more, 
glancing  again  at  her  untasted  breakfast. 

Then  she  suddenly  began  to  think  of  her  conversation 
with  Mr.  Francis ;  and,  by  a  strange  association  of  ideas, 
remembered  the  fall  of  the  volor  in  Brighton,  the  busy- 
ness of  the  priest,  and  the  Euthanasia  boxes.  .   .   . 
*  *  *  in  * 

When  Sister  Anne  came  in  a  few  minutes  later,  she  was 
astonished  at  what  she  saw.  The  girl  crouched  at  the  win- 
dow, her  hands  on  the  sill,  staring  out  at  the  sky  in  an 
attitude  of  unmistakable  horror. 

Sister  Anne  came  across  the  room  quickly,  setting  down 
something  on  the  table  as  she  passed.  She  touched  the  girl 
on  the  shoulder. 

"My  dear,  what  is  it.?" 

There  was  a  long  sobbing  breath,  and  Mabel  turned,  ris- 
ing as  she  turned,  and  clutched  the  nurse  with  one  shaking 
hand,  pointing  out  with  the  other. 

"There !"  she  said.    "There— look !" 


310  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"Well,  my  dear,  what  is  it?  I  see  nothing.  It  is  a  little 
dark!" 

"Dark!"  said  the  other.  "You  call  that  dark!  Why, 
why,  it  is  black — black!" 

The  nurse  drew  her  softly  backwards  to  the  chair,  turn- 
ing her  from  the  window.  She  recognised  nervous  fear; 
but  no  more  than  that.  But  Mabel  tore  herself  free,  and 
wheeled  again. 

"You  call  that  a  little  dark,"  she  said.  "Why,  look,  sister, 
look!" 

Yet  there  was  nothing  remarkable  to  be  seen.  In  front 
rose  up  the  feathery  hand  of  an  elm,  then  the  shuttered  win- 
dows across  the  court,  the  roof,  and  above  that  the  morn- 
ing sky,  a  little  heavy  and  dusky  as  before  a  storm ;  but 
no  more  than  that. 

"Well,  what  is  it,  my  dear?    What  do  you  seel'" 

"Why,  why  .   .    .  look  !  look !—    There,  listen  to  that." 

A  faint  far-away  rumble  sounded  as  the  rolling  of  a  wag- 
gon— so  faint  that  it  might  almost  be  an  aural  delusion. 
But  the  girl's  hands  were  at  her  ears,  and  her  face  was  one 
white  wide-eyed  mask  of  terror.  The  nurse  threw  her 
arms  round  her. 

"My  dear,"  she  said,  "you  are  not  yourself.  That  is 
nothing  but  a  little  heat-thunder.     Sit  down  quietly." 

She  could  feel  the  girl's  body  shaking  beneath  her  hands, 
but  there  was  no  resistance  as  she  drew  her  to  the  chair. 

"The  Hghts !"  the  lights !"  sobbed  Mabel. 

"Will  you  promise  me  to  sit  quietly,  then?" 

She  nodded ;  and  the  nurse  Avent  across  to  the  door,  smil- 
ing tenderly ;  she  had  seen  such  things  before.  A  moment 
later    the    room    was    full    of    exquisite    sunlight,    as    she 


THE  VICTORY  311 

switched  the  handle.  As  she  turned,  she  saw  that  Mabel 
had  wheeled  herself  round  in  the  chair,  and  with  clasped 
hands  was  still  staring  out  at  the  sky  above  the  roofs ; 
but  she  was  plainly  quieter  again  now.  The  nurse  came 
back,  and  put  her  hand  on  her  shoulder. 

"You  are  overwrought,  my  dear.  .  .  .  Now  you  must  be- 
lieve me.  There  is  nothing  to  be  frightened  of.  It  is 
just  nervous  excitement.  .  .  .  Shall  I  pull  down  the 
blind?" 

INIabel  turned  her  face.  .  .  .  Yes,  certainly  the  light  had 
reassured  her.  Her  face  was  still  white  and  bewildered, 
but  the  steady  look  was  coming  back  to  her  eyes,  though, 
even  as  she  spoke,  they  wandered  back  more  than  once  to 
the  window. 

"Nurse,"  she  said  more  quietly,  "please  look  again  and 
tell  me  if  you  see  nothing.  If  you  say  there  is  nothing  I 
will  believe  that  I  am  going  mad.  No ;  you  must  not  touch 
the  blind." 

No;  there  was  nothing.  The  sky  was  a  little  dark,  as 
if  a  blight  were  coming  on;  but  there  was  hardly  more 
than  a  veil  of  cloud,  and  the  light  was  scarcely  more  than 
tinged  with  gloom.  It  was  just  such  a  sky  as  precedes  a 
spring  thunderstorm.     She  said  so,  clearly  and  firmly. 

Mabel's  face  steadied  still  more. 

"Very  well,  nurse.  .    .    .  Then " 

She  turned  to  the  little  table  by  the  side  on  which  Sister 
Anne  had  set  down  what  she  had  brought  into  the  room. 

"Show  me,  please." 

The  nurse  still  hesitated. 

"Are  you  sure  you  are  not  too  frightened,  my  dear.f*  Shall 
I  get  you  anything?" 


312  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"I  have  no  more  to  say,"  said  Mabel  firmly.  "Show  me, 
please." 

Sister  Anne  turned  resolutely  to  the  table. 

There  rested  upon  it  a  white-enamelled  box,  delicately 
painted  with  flowers.  From  this  box  emerged  a  white  flexi- 
ble tube  with  a  broad  mouthpiece,  fitted  with  two  leather- 
covered  steel  clasps.  From  the  side  of  the  box  nearest  the 
chair  protruded  a  little  china  handle. 

"Now,  my  dear,"  began  the  nurse  quietly,  watching  the 
other's  eyes  turn  once  again  to  the  window,  and  then  back 
— "now,  my  dear,  you  sit  there,  as  you  are  now.  Your 
head  right  back,  please.  When  you  are  ready,  you  put 
this  over  your  mouth,  and  clasp  the  springs  behind  your 
head.  .  .  .  So.  ...  it  works  quite  easily.  Then  you 
turn  this  handle,  round  that  way,  as  far  as  it  will  go.  And 
that  is  all." 

Mabel  nodded.  She  had  regained  her  self-command,  and 
understood  plainly  enough,  though  even  as  she  spoke  once 
again  her  eyes  strayed  away  to  the  window. 

"That  is  all,"  she  said.     "And  what  then?" 

The  nurse  eyed  her  doubtfully  for  a  moment. 

"I  understand  perfectly,"  said  Mabel.  "And  what 
then?" 

"There  is  nothing  more.  Breathe  naturally.  You  will 
feel  sleepy  almost  directly.  Then  you  close  your  eyes,  and 
that  is  all." 

Mabel  laid  the  tube  on  the  table  and  stood  up.  She  was 
completely  herself  now. 

"Give  me  a  kiss,  sister,"  she  said. 

The  nurse  nodded  and  smiled  to  her  once  more  at  the 


THE  VICTORY  313 

door.  But  Mabel  hardly  noticed  it ;  again  she  was  looking 
towards  the  window. 

"I  shall  come  back  in  half-an-hour,"  said  Sister  Anne. 
Then  her  eyes  caught  a  square  of  white  upon  the  centre 
table.     "Ah  !  that  letter !"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl  absently.    "Please  take  it." 

The  nurse  took  it  up,  glanced  at  the  address,  and  again 
at  Mabel.     Still  she  hesitated. 

"In  half-an-hour,"  she  repeated.  "There  is  no  hurry  at 
all.    It  doesn't  take  five  minutes.  .   ,   .  Good-bye,  my  dear." 

But  Mabel  was  still  looking  out  of  the  window,  and  made 
no  answer. 


Ill 


Mabel  stood  perfectly  still  until  she  heard  the  locking 
of  the  door  and  the  withdrawal  of  the  key.  Then  once 
more  she  went  to  the  window  and  clasped  the  sill. 

From  where  she  stood  there  was  visible  to  her  first  the 
courtyard  beneath,  with  its  lawn  in  the  centre,  and  a  couple 
of  trees  growing  there — all  plain  in  the  brilliant  light  that 
now  streamed  from  her  window ;  and  secondly,  above  the 
roofs,  a  tremendous  pall  of  ruddy  black.  It  was  the  more 
terrible  from  the  contrast.  Earth,  it  seemed,  was  capable 
of  light ;  heaven  had  failed. 

It  appeared,  too,  that  there  was  a  curious  stillness.  The 
house  was,  usually,  quiet  enough  at  this  hour:  the  inhabi- 
tants of  that  place  were  in  no  mood  for  bustle:  but  now 
it  was  more  than  quiet;  it  was  deathly  still:  it  was  such  a 
hush  as  precedes  the  sudden  crash  of  the  sky's  artillery. 


314  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

But  the  moments  went  by,  and  there  was  no  such  crash: 
only  once  again  there  sounded  a  solemn  rolling,  as  of  some 
great  wain  far  away ;  stupendously  impressive,  for  with 
it  to  the  girl's  ears  there  seemed  mingled  a  murmur  of  in- 
numerable voices,  ghostly  crying  and  applause.  Then 
again  the  hush  settled  down  like  wool. 

She  had  begun  to  understand  now.  The  darkness  and 
the  sounds  were  not  for  all  eyes  and  ears.  The  nurse  had 
seen  and  heard  nothing  extraordinary,  and  the  rest  of  the 
world  of  men  saw  and  heard  nothing.  To  them  it  was  no 
more  than  the  hint  of  a  coming  storm. 

Mabel  did  not  attempt  to  distinguish  between  the  sub- 
jective and  the  objective.  It  was  nothing  to  her  as  to 
whether  the  sights  and  sounds  were  generated  by  her  own 
brain  or  perceived  by  some  faculty  hitherto  unknown. 
She  seemed  to  herself  to  be  standing  already  apart  from 
the  world  which  she  had  known ;  it  was  receding  from  her, 
or,  rather,  while  standing  where  it  had  always  done,  it  was 
melting,  transforming  itself,  passing  to  some  other  mode 
of  existence.  The  strangeness  seemed  no  more  strange  than 
anything  else — than  that  .  .  .  that  little  painted  box  upon 
the  table. 

Then,  hardly  knowing  what  she  said,  looking  steadily 
upon  that  appalling  sky,  she  began  to  speak.  .   .   . 

"O  God!"  she  said.  "If  You  are  really  there — really 
there " 

Her  voice  faltered,  and  she  gripped  the  sill  to  steady  her- 
self. She  wondered  vaguely  why  she  spoke  so ;  it  was 
neither  intellect  nor  emotion  that  inspired  her.  Yet  she  con- 
tinued. .    .    . 

"O  God,  I  know  You  are  not  there — of  course  You  are 


THE  VICTORY  315 

not.  But  if  You  were  there,  I  know  what  I  would  sslj  to 
You.  I  would  tell  You  how  puzzled  and  tired  I  am.  No — 
No — I  need  not  tell  You:  You  would  know  it.  But  I 
would  say  that  I  was  very  sorry  for  all  this.  Oh!  You 
would  know  that  too.  I  need  not  say  anything  at  all.  O 
Grod !  I  don't  know  what  I  want  to  say.  I  would  like  You 
to  look  after  Oliver,  of  course,  and  all  Your  poor  Chris- 
tians. Oh !  they  will  have  such  a  hard  time.  .  .  .  God. 
God — You  would  understand,  wouldn't  You?"   .    .    . 

Again  came  the  heavy  rumble  and  the  solemn  bass  of  a 
myriad  voices ;  it  seemed  a  shade  nearer,  she  thought.  .  .  . 
She  never  liked  thunderstorms  or  shouting  crowds.  They 
alwaj's  gave  her  a  headache.  .    .    . 

"Well,  well,"  she  said.     "Good-bye,  everything " 

Then  she  was  in  the  chair.  The  mouthpiece — yes;  that 
was  it.   .    .    . 

She  was  furious  at  the  trembling  of  her  hands ;  twice  the 
spring  slipped  from  her  polished  coils  of  hair.  .  .  .  Then 
it  was  fixed  .  .  .  and  as  if  a  breeze  fanned  her,  her  sense 
came  back.   .    .    . 

She  found  she  could  breathe  quite  easily ;  there  was  no 
resistance — that  was  a  comfort ;  there  would  be  no  suffoca- 
tion about  it.  .  .  .  She  put  out  her  left  hand  and  touched 
the  handle,  conscious  less  of  its  sudden  coolness  than  of 
the  unbearable  heat  in  which  the  room  seemed  almost  sud- 
denly plunged.  She  could  hear  the  drumming  pulses  in 
her  temples  and  the  roaring  of  the  voices.  .  .  .  She  dropped 
the  handle  once  more,  and  with  both  hands  tore  at  the  loose 
white  wrapper  that  she  had  put  on  this  morning.  .  .  . 
Yes,  that  was  a  little  easier;  she  could  breathe  better  so. 


316  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

Again  her  fingers  felt  for  and  found  the  handle,  but  the 
sweat  streamed  from  her  fingers,  and  for  an  instant  she 
could  not  turn  the  knob.     Then  it  yielded  suddenly.  .    .    . 

For  one  instant  the  sweet  languid  smell  struck  her  con- 
sciousness like  a  blow,  for  she  knew  it  as  the  scent  of  death. 
Then  the  steady  will  that  had  borne  her  so  far  asserted 
itself,  and  she  laid  her  hands  softly  in  her  lap,  breathing 
deeply  and  easily. 

She  had  closed  her  eyes  at  the  turning  of  the  handle,but  now 
opened  them  again,  curious  to  watch  the  aspect  of  the  fading 
world.  She  had  determined  to  do  this  a  week  ago :  she  would 
at  least  miss  nothing  of  this  unique  last  experience. 

It  seemed  at  first  that  there  was  no  change.  There  was 
the  feathery  head  of  the  elm,  the  lead  roof  opposite,  and 
the  terrible  sky  above.  She  noticed  a  pigeon,  white 
against  the  blackness,  soar  and  swoop  again  out  of  sight 
in  an  instant.  .   .    . 

.   .    .  Then  the  following  things  happened.  .   .   . 

There  was  a  sudden  sensation  of  ecstatic  lightness  in  all 
her  limbs ;  she  attempted  to  lift  a  hand,  and  was  aware 
that  it  was  impossible;  it  was  no  longer  hers.  She  at- 
tempted to  lower  her  eyes  from  that  broad  strip  of  violet 
sky,  and  perceived  that  that  too  was  impossible.  Then 
she  understood  that  the  will  had  already  lost  touch  with 
the  body,  that  the  crumbling  world  had  receded  to  an  in- 
finite distance — that  was  as  she  had  expected,  but  what 
continued  to  puzzle  her  was  that  her  mind  was  still  active. 
It  was  true  that  the  world  she  had  known  had  withdrawn 
itself  from  the  dominion  of  consciousness,  as  her  body  had 


THE  VICTORY  317 

done,  except,  that  was,  in  the  sense  of  hearing,  which  was 
still  strangely  alert ;  yet  there  was  still  enough  memory  to 
be  aware  that  there  was  such  a  world — that  there  were  other 
persons  in  existence ;  that  men  went  about  their  business, 
knowing  nothing  of  what  had  happened ;  but  faces,  names, 
places  had  all  alike  gone.  In  fact,  she  was  conscious  of 
herself  in  such  a  manner  as  she  had  never  been  before; 
it  seemed  as  if  she  had  penetrated  at  last  into  some  recess 
of  her  being  into  which  hitherto  she  had  only  looked  as 
through  clouded  glass.  This  was  very  strange,  and  yet  it 
was  familiar,  too ;  she  had  arrived,  it  seemed,  at  a  centre, 
round  the  circumference  of  which  she  had  been  circling  all 
her  life ;  and  it  was  more  than  a  mere  point :  it  was  a  dis- 
tinct space,  walled  and  enclosed.  ...  At  the  same  instant 
she  knew  that  hearing,  too,  was  gone.   .    .    . 

Then  an  amazing  thing  happened — yet  it  appeared  to 
her  that  she  had  always  known  it  would  happen,  although 
her  mind  had  never  articulated  it.    This  is  what  happened. 

The  enclosure  melted,  with  a  sound  of  breaking,  and  a 
limitless  space  was  about  her — limitless,  different  to  every- 
thing else,  and  alive,  and  astir.  It  was  alive,  as  a  breath- 
ing, panting  body  is  alive — self-evident  and  overpowering 
— it  was  one,  yet  it  was  many ;  it  was  immaterial,  yet  abso- 
lutely real — real  in  a  sense  in  which  she  never  dreamed  of 
reality.  .    .   . 

Yet  even  this  was  familiar,  as  a  place  often  visited  in 
dreams  is  familiar;  and  then,  without  warning,  something 
resembling  sound  or  light,  something  which  she  knew  in 
an  instant  to  be  unique,  tore  across  it.  .    .    . 

Then  she  saw,  and  understood.  .   .   . 


CHAPTER  V 


Oliver  had  passed  the  days  since  Mabel's  disappearance 
in  an  indescribable  horror.  He  had  done  all  that  was  pos- 
sible: he  had  traced  her  to  the  station  and  to  Victoria, 
where  he  lost  her  clue;  he  had  communicated  with  the 
police,  and  the  official  answer,  telling  him  nothing,  had 
arrived  to  the  effect  that  there  was  no  news :  and  it  was  not 
until  the  Tuesday  following  her  disappearance  that  Mr. 
Francis,  hearing  by  chance  of  his  trouble,  informed  hira 
by  telephone  that  he  had  spoken  with  her  on  the  Friday 
night.  But  there  was  no  satisfaction  to  be  got  from  him 
— indeed,  the  news  was  bad  rather  than  good,  for  Oliver 
could  not  but  be  dismayed  at  the  report  of  the  conversa- 
tion, in  spite  of  Mr.  Francis's  assurances  that  Mrs.  Brand 
had  shown  no  kind  of  inclination  to  defend  the  Christian 
cause. 

Two  theories  gradually  emerged  in  his  mind;  either  she 
was  gone  to  the  protection  of  some  unknown  Catholic,  or — 
and  he  grew  sick  at  the  thought — she  had  applied  some- 
where for  Euthanasia  as  she  had  once  threatened,  and  was 
now  under  the  care  of  the  Law;  such  an  event  was  suffi- 
ciently common  since  the  passing  of  the  Release  Act  in 
1998.     And  it  was  frightful  that  he  could  not  condemn  it. 

On  the  Tuesday  evening,  as  he  sat  heavily  in  his  room, 


THE  VICTORY  319 

for  the  hundredth  time  attempting  to  trace  out  some  co- 
herent hne  through  the  maze  of  intercourse  he  had  had 
with  his  wife  during  these  past  months,  his  bell  suddenly 
rang.  It  was  the  red  label  of  Whitehall  that  had  made 
its  appearance;  and  for  an  instant  his  heart  leaped  with 
hope  that  it  was  news  of  her.  But  at  the  first  words  it 
sank  again. 

"Brand,"  came  the  sharp  fairy  voice,  "is  that  you  ?  .  .  . 
Yes,  I  am  Snowford.  You  are  wanted  at  once — at  once, 
you  understand.  There  is  an  extraordinary  meeting  of  the 
Council  at  twenty  o'clock.  The  President  will  be  there. 
You  understand  the  urgency.  No  time  for  more.  Come 
instantly  to  my  room." 

Even  this  message  scarcely  distracted  him.  He,  with 
the  rest  of  the  world,  was  no  longer  surprised  at  the  sudden 
descents  of  the  President.  He  came  and  vanished  again 
without  warning,  travelling  and  working  with  incredible 
energy,  yet  always,  as  it  seemed,  retaining  his  personal 
calm. 

It  was  already  after  nineteen ;  Oliver  supped  immediate^, 
and  a  quarter-of-an-hour  before  the  hour  presented  himself 
in  Snowford's  room,  where  half  a  dozen  of  his  colleagues 
were  assembled. 

That  minister  came  forward  to  meet  him,  with  a  strange 
excitement  in  his  face.     He  drew  him  aside  by  a  button. 

"See  here.  Brand,  you  are  wanted  to  speak  first — imme- 
diately after  the  President's  Secretary  who  will  open ;  they 
are  coming  from  Paris.  It  is  about  a  new  matter  alto- 
gether. He  has  had  information  of  the  whereabouts  of  the 
Pope.  ...  It  seems  that  there  is  one.  .    .    .  Oh,  you  will 


S20  LORD  OP  THE  WORLD 

understand  presently.  Oh,  and  by  the  way,"  he  went  on, 
looking  curiously  at  the  strained  face,  "I  am  sorry  to  hear 
of  your  anxiety.     Pemberton  told  me  just  now." 

Oliver  lifted  a  hand  abruptly. 

"Tell  me,"  he  said.     "What  am  I  wanted  to  say.?" 

"Well,  the  President  will  have  a  proposal,  we  imagine. 
You  know  our  minds  well  enough.  Just  explain  our  atti- 
tude towards  the  Catholics." 

Oliver's  eyes  shrank  suddenly  to  two  bright  lines  beneath 
the  lids.     He  nodded. 

Cartwright  came  up  presently,  an  immense,  bent  old  man 
with  a  face  of  parchment,  as  befitted  the  Lord  Chief 
Justice. 

"By  the  way.  Brand,  what  do  you  know  of  a  man  called 
Phillips?     He  seems  to  have  mentioned  your  name." 

"He  was  my  secretary,"  said  Oliver  slowly.  "What  about 
him.?" 

"I  think  he  must  be  mad.  He  has  given  himself  up  to 
a  magistrate,  entreating  to  be  examined  at  once.  The 
magistrate  has  applied  for  instructions.  You  see,  the  Act 
has  scarcely  begun  to  move  yet." 

"But  what  has  he  done.?" 

"That's  the  difficulty.  He  says  he  cannot  deny  God, 
neither  can  he  affirm  Him. — He  was  your  secretary,  then.?" 

"Certainly.  I  knew  he  was  inclined  to  Christianity.  I 
had  to  get  rid  of  him  for  that." 

"Well,  he  is  to  be  remanded  for  a  week.  Perhaps  he  will 
be  able  to  make  up  his  mind." 

Then  the  talk  shifted  off  again.  Two  or  three  more  came 
up,  and  all  eyed  Oliver  with  a  certain  curiosity ;  the  story 


THE  VICTORY  321 

was  gone  about  that  his  wife  had  left  him.  They  wished 
to  see  how  he  took  it. 

At  five  minutes  before  the  hour  a  bell  rang,  and  the  door 
into  the  corridor  was  thrown  open. 

"Come,  gentlemen,"  said  the  Prime  Minister. 

The  Council  Chamber  was  a  long  high  room  on  the  first 
floor;  its  walls  from  floor  to  ceiling  were  lined  with  books. 
A  noiseless  rubber  carpet  was  underfoot.  There  were  no 
windows ;  the  room  was  lighted  artificially.  A  long  table, 
set  round  with  armed  chairs,  ran  the  length  of  the  floor, 
eight  on  either  side ;  and  the  Presidential  chair,  raised  on  a 
dais,  stood  at  the  head. 

Each  man  went  straight  to  his  chair  in  silence,  and  re- 
mained there,  waiting. 

The  room  was  beautifully  cool,  in  spite  of  the  absence 
of  windows,  and  was  a  pleasant  contrast  to  the  hot  even- 
ing outside  through  which  most  of  these  men  had  come. 
They,  too,  had  wondered  at  the  surprising  weather,  and 
had  smiled  at  the  conflict  of  the  infallible.  But  they  were 
not  thinking  about  that  now:  the  coming  of  the  President 
was  a  matter  which  always  silenced  the  most  loquacious. 
Besides,  this  time,  they  understood  that  the  aff'air  was  more 
serious  than  usual. 

At  one  minute  before  the  hour,  again  a  bell  sounded,  four 
times,  and  ceased;  and  at  the  signal  each  man  turned  in- 
stinctively to  the  high  sliding  door  behind  the  Presidential 
chair.  There  was  dead  silence  within  and  without :  the  huge 
Government  offices  were  luxuriously  provided  with  sound- 
deadening  apparatus,  and  not  even  the  rolling  of  the  vast 
motors  within  a  hundred  yards  was  able  to  send  a  vibration 


322  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

through  the  layers  of  rubber  on  which  the  walls  rested. 
There  was  only  one  noise  that  could  penetrate,  and  that 
the  sound  of  thunder.  The  experts  were  at  present  unable 
to  exclude  this. 

Again  the  silence  seemed  to  fall  in  one  yet  deeper  veil. 
Then  the  door  opened,  and  a  figure  came  swiftly  through, 
followed  by  Another  in  black  and  scarlet. 


II 


He  passed  straight  up  to  the  chair,  followed  by  two  secre- 
taries, bowed  slightly  to  this  side  and  that,  sat  down  and 
made  a  little  gesture.  Then  they,  too,  were  in  their  chairs, 
upright  and  intent.  For  perhaps  the  hundredth  time, 
Oliver,  staring  upon  the  President,  marvelled  at  the  quiet- 
ness and  the  astounding  personality  of  Him.  He  was  in 
the  English  judicial  dress  that  had  passed  down  through 
centuries — black  and  scarlet  with  sleeves  of  white  fur  and 
a  crimson  sash — and  that  had  lately  been  adopted  as  the 
English  presidential  costume  of  him  who  stood  at  the  head 
of  the  legislature.  But  it  was  in  His  personality,  in  the 
atmosphere  that  flowed  from  Him,  that  the  marvel  lay. 
It  was  as  the  scent  of  the  sea  to  the  physical  nature — it 
exhilarated,  cleansed,  kindled,  intoxicated.  It  was  as  inex- 
plicably attractive  as  a  cherry  orchard  in  spring,  as  affect- 
ing as  the  cry  of  stringed  instruments,  as  compelling  as  a 
storm.  So  writers  had  said.  They  compared  it  to  a  stream 
of  clear  water,  to  the  flash  of  a  gem,  to  the  love  of  woman. 
They  lost  all  decency  sometimes ;  they  said  it  fitted  all 
moods,  as  the  voice  of  many  waters;  they  called  it  again 


THE  VICTORY  323 

and  again,  as  explicitly  as  possible,  the  Divine  Nature  per- 
fectly Incarnate  at  last.  ... 

Then  Oliver's  reflections  dropped  from  him  like  a  mantle, 
for  the  President,  with  downcast  eyes  and  head  thrown  back, 
made  a  little  gesture  to  the  ruddy-faced  secretary  on  His 
right;  and  this  man,  without  a  movement,  began  to  speak 
like  an  impersonal  actor  repeating  his  part. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  in  an  even,  resonant  voice,  "the 
President  is  come  direct  from  Paris.  This  afternoon  His 
Honour  was  in  Berlin;  this  morning,  early,  in  Moscow. 
Yesterday  in  New  York.  To-night  His  Honour  must  be 
in  Turin ;  and  to-morrow  will  begin  to  return  through 
Spain,  North  Africa,  Greece  and  the  southeastern  states." 

This  was  the  usual  formula  for  such  speeches.  The  Presi- 
dent spoke  but  little  himself  now ;  but  was  careful  for  the 
information  of  his  subjects  on  occasions  like  this.  His 
secretaries  were  perfectly  trained,  and  this  speaker  was  no 
exception.     After  a  slight  pause,  he  continued: 

"This  is  the  business,  gentlemen. 

"Last  Thursday,  as  you  are  aware,  the  Plenipotentaries 
signed  the  Test  Act  in  this  room,  and  it  was  immediately 
communicated  all  over  the  world.  At  sixteen  o'clock  His 
Honour  received  a  message  from  a  man  named  DolgorovskI 
— who  is,  it  is  understood,  one  of  the  Cardinals  of  the 
Catholic  Church.  This  he  claimed;  and  on  inquiry  it  was 
found  to  be  a  fact.  His  information  confirmed  what  was 
already  suspected — namely,  that  there  was  a  man  claiming 
to  be  Pope,  who  had  created  (so  the  phrase  is)  other  cardi- 
nals, shortly  after  the  destruction  of  Rome,  subsequent  to 
which  his  own  election  took  place  in  Jerusalem.    It  appears 


324  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

that  this  Pope,  with  a  good  deal  of  statesmanship,  has 
chosen  to  keep  his  own  name  and  place  of  residence  a  secret 
from  even  his  own  followers,  with  the  exception  of  the 
twelve  cardinals ;  that  he  has  done  a  great  deal,  through 
the  instrumentality  of  one  of  his  cardinals  in  particular, 
and  through  his  new  Order  in  general,  towards  the  reorgan- 
isation of  the  Catholic  Church ;  and  that  at  this  moment  he 
is  living,  apart  from  the  world,  in  complete  security. 

"His  Honour  blames  Himself  that  He  did  not  do  more 
than  suspect  something  of  the  kind — misled.  He  thinks,  by 
a  belief  that  if  there  had  been  a  Pope,  news  would  have 
been  heard  of  it  from  other  quarters,  for,  as  is  well  known, 
the  entire  structure  of  the  Christian  Church  rests  upon  him 
as  upon  a  rock.  Further,  His  Honour  thinks  inquiries 
should  have  been  made  in  the  very  place  where  now  it  is 
understood  that  this  Pope  is  living. 

"The  man's  name,  gentlemen,  is  Franklin " 

Oliver  started  uncontrollably,  but  relapsed  again  to 
bright-eyed  intelligence  as  for  an  instant  the  President 
glanced  up  from  his  motionlessness. 

"Frankhn,"  repeated  the  secretary,  "and  he  is  living  in 
Nazareth,  where,  it  is  said,  the  Founder  of  Christianity 
passed  His  youth. 

"Now  this,  gentlemen.  His  Honour  heard  on  Thursday  in 
last  week.  He  caused  inquiries  to  be  made,  and  on  Friday 
morning  received  further  intelligence  from  Dolgorovski 
that  this  Pope  had  summoned  to  Nazareth  a  meeting  of 
his  cardinals,  and  certain  other  officials,  from  all  over  the 
world,  to  consider  what  steps  should  be  taken  in  view  of  the 
new  Test  Act.  This  His  Honour  takes  to  show  an  extreme 
want  of  statesmanship  which  seems  hard  to  reconcile  with 


THE  VICTORY  325 

his  former  action.  These  persons  are  summoned  by  special 
messengers  to  meet  on  Saturday  next,  and  will  begin  their 
deliberations  after  some  Christian  ceremonies  on  the  follow- 
ing morning. 

"You  wish,  gentlemen,  no  doubt,  to  know  Dolgorovski's 
motives  in  making  all  this  known.  His  Honour  is  satis- 
fied that  they  are  genuine.  The  man  has  been  losing  be- 
lief in  his  religion ;  In  fact,  he  has  come  to  see  that  this 
religion  is  the  supreme  obstacle  to  the  consolidation  of  the 
race.  He  has  esteemed  it  his  duty,  therefore,  to  lay  this 
information  before  His  Honour.  It  is  interesting  as  an 
historical  parallel  to  reflect  that  the  same  kind  of  incident 
marked  the  rise  of  Christianity  as  will  mark,  it  is  thought, 
its  final  extinction — namely,  the  informing  on  the  ipanrt  of 
one  of  the  leaders  of  the  place  and  method  by  which  the 
principal  personage  may  be  best  approached.  It  is  also, 
surely,  very  significant  that  the  scene  of  the  extinction  of 
Christianity  is  identical  with  that  of  its  Inauguration.  .   .   . 

"Well,  gentlemen,  His  Honour's  proposal  Is  as  follows, 
carrying  out  the  Declaration  to  which  you  all  acceded.  It 
is  that  a  force  should  proceed  during  the  night  of  Satur- 
day next  to  Palestine,  and  on  the  Sunday  morning,  when 
these  men  will  be  all  gathered  together,  that  this  force 
should  finish  as  swiftly  and  mercifully  as  possible  the  work 
to  which  the  Powers  have  set  their  hands.  So  far,  the  con- 
sent of  the  Governments  which  have  been  consulted  has 
been  unanimous,  and  there  Is  little  doubt  that  the  rest  will 
be  equally  so.  His  Honour  felt  that  He  could  not  act  in 
so  grave  a  matter  on  His  own  responsibility ;  it  is  not 
merely  local;  it  is  a  catholic  administration  of  justice,  and 
will  have  results  wider  than  it  is  safe  minutely  to  prophesy. 


326  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"It  is  not  necessary  to  enter  into  His  Honour's  reasons. 
They  are  already  well  known  to  you ;  but  before  asking 
for  your  opinion,  He  desires  me  to  indicate  what  He  thinks, 
in  the  event  of  your  approval,  should  be  the  method  of 
action. 

"Each  Government,  it  is  proposed,  should  take  part  in 
the  final  scene,  for  it  is  something  of  a  symbolic  action ; 
and  for  this  purpose  it  is  thought  well  that  each  of  the 
three  Departments  of  the  World  should  depute  volors,  to 
the  number  of  the  constituting  States,  one  hundred  and 
twenty-two  all  told,  to  set  about  the  business.  These  volors 
should  have  no  common  meeting-ground,  otherwise  the  news 
will  surely  penetrate  to  Nazareth,  for  it  is  understood  that 
this  new  Order  of  Christ  Crucified  has  a  highly  organised 
system  of  espionage.  The  rendezvous,  then,  should  be  no 
other  than  Nazareth  itself ;  and  the  time  of  meeting  should 
be,  it  is  thought,  not  later  than  nine  o'clock  according  to 
Palestine  reckoning.  These  details,  however,  can  be  decided 
and  communicated  as  soon  as  a  determination  has  been 
formed  as  regards  the  entire  scheme. 

"With  respect  to  the  exact  method  of  carrying  out  the 
conclusion.  His  Honour  is  inclined  to  think  it  will  be  more 
merciful  to  enter  into  no  negotiations  with  the  persons  con- 
cerned. An  opportunity  should  be  given  to  the  inhabitants 
of  the  village  to  make  their  escape  if  they  so  desire  it,  and 
then,  with  the  explosives  that  the  force  should  carry,  the 
end  can  be  practically  instantaneous. 

"For  Himself,  His  Honour  proposes  to  be  there  in  person, 
and  further  that  the  actual  discharge  should  take  place 
from  His  own  car.  It  seems  but  suitable  that  the  world 
which  has  done  His  Honour  the  goodness  to  elect  Him  to  its 


THE  VICTORY  327 

Presidentship  should  act  through  His  hands ;  and  this 
would  be  at  least  some  slight  token  of  respect  to  a  supersti- 
tion which,  however  infamous,  is  yet  the  one  and  only  force 
capable  of  withstanding  the  true  progress  of  man, 

"His  Honour  promises  you,  gentlemen,  that  in  the  event 
of  this  plan  being  carried  out,  we  shall  be  no  more  troubled 
with  Christianity.  Already  the  moral  effect  of  the  Test 
Act  has  been  prodigious.  It  is  understood  that,  by  tens 
of  thousands.  Catholics,  numbering  among  them  even  mem- 
bers of  this  new  fanatical  Religious  Order,  have  been  re- 
nouncing their  follies  even  in  these  few  days ;  and  a  final 
blow  struck  now  at  the  very  heart  and  head  of  the  Catholic 
Church,  eliminating,  as  it  would  do,  the  actual  body  on 
which  the  entire  organisation  subsists,  would  render  its 
resurrection  impossible.  It  is  a  well-known  fact  that, 
granted  the  extinction  of  the  line  of  Popes,  together  with 
those  necessary  for  its  continuance,  there  could  be  no  longer 
any  question  amongst  even  the  most  ignorant  that  the  claim 
of  Jesus  had  ceased  to  be  either  reasonable  or  possible. 
Even  the  Order  that  has  provided  the  sinews  for  this  new 
movement  must  cease  to  exist. 

"Dolgorovski,  of  course,  is  the  difficulty,  for  it  is  not  cer- 
tainly known  whether  one  Cardinal  would  be  considered  suf- 
ficient for  the  propagation  of  the  line;  and,  although  re- 
luctantly. His  Honour  feels  bound  to  suggest  that  at  the 
conclusion  of  the  affair,  Dolgorovski,  also,  who  will  not, 
of  course,  be  with  his  fellows  at  Nazareth,  should  be  merci- 
fully removed  from  even  the  danger  of  a  relapse.    .    .    . 

"His  Honour,  then,  asks  you,  gentlemen,  as  briefly  as 
possible,  to  state  your  views  on  the  points  of  which  I  have 
had  the  privilege  of  speaking." 


328  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

The  quiet  business-like  voice  ceased. 

He  had  spoken  throughout  in  the  manner  with  which  he 
had  begun ;  his  eyes  had  been  downcast  throughout ;  his 
voice  had  been  tranquil  and  restrained.  His  deportment 
had  been  admirable. 

There  was  an  instant's  silence,  and  all  eyes  settled  steadily 
again  upon  the  motionless  figure  in  black  and  scarlet  and 
the  ivory  face. 

Then  Oliver  stood  up.  His  face  was  as  white  as  paper; 
his  eyes  bright  and  dilated. 

"Sir,"  he  said,  "I  have  no  doubt  that  we  are  all  of  one 
mind.  I  need  say  no  more  than  that,  so  far  as  I  am  a 
representative  of  my  colleagues,  we  assent  to  the  proposal, 
and  leave  all  details  in  your  Honour's  hands." 

The  President  lifted  his  e^^es,  and  ran  them  swiftly  along 
the  rigid  faces  turned  to  him. 

Then,  in  the  breathless  hush,  he  spoke  for  the  first  time 
in  his  strange  voice,  now  as  passionless  as  a  frozen  river. 

"Is  there  any  other  proposal.'"' 

There  was  a  murmur  of  assent  as  the  men  rose  to  their 
feet. 

"Thank  you,  gentlemen,"  said  the  secretary. 


Ill 


It  was  a  little  before  seven  o'clock  on  the  morning  of 
Saturday  that  Oliver  stepped  out  of  the  motor  that  hnd 
carried  him  to  Wimbledon  Common,  and  began  to  go  up 
the  steps  of  the  old  volor-stage,  abandoned  five  years  ago. 
It  had  been  thought  better,  in  view  of  the  extreme  secrecy 


THE  VICTORY  329 

that  was  to  be  kept,  that  England's  representative  in  the 
expedition  should  start  from  a  comparatively  unknown 
point,  and  this  old  stage,  in  disuse  now,  except  for  occa- 
sional trials  of  new  Government  machines,  had  been  selected. 
Even  the  lift  had  been  removed,  and  it  was  necessary  to 
climb  the  hundred  and  fifty  steps  on  foot. 

It  was  with  a  certain  unwillingness  that  he  had  accepted 
this  post  among  the  four  delegates,  for  nothing  had  been 
heard  of  his  wife,  and  it  was  terrible  to  him  to  leave  Lon- 
don while  her  fate  was  as  yet  doubtful.  On  the  whole,  he 
was  less  inclined  than  ever  now  to  accept  the  Euthanasia 
theory ;  he  had  spoken  to  one  or  two  of  her  friends,  all* 
of  whom  declared  that  she  had  never  even  hinted  at  such  an 
end.  And,  again,  although  he  was  well  aware  of  the  eight- 
day  law  in  the  matter,  even  if  she  had  determined  on  such  a 
step  there  was  nothing  to  show  that  she  was  yet  in  Eng- 
land, and,  in  fact,  it  was  more  than  likely  that  if  she  were 
bent  on  such  an  act  she  would  go  abroad  for  it,  where  laxer 
conditions  prevailed.  In  short,  it  seemed  that  he  could  do 
no  good  by  remaining  in  England,  and  the  temptation  to 
be  present  at  the  final  act  of  justice  in  the  East  by  which 
land,  and,  in  fact,  it  was  more  than  likely  that  if  she  were 
to  be  wiped  out,  and  Franklin,  too,  among  them — Frank- 
lin, that  parody  of  the  Lord  of  the  World — this,  added 
to  the  opinion  of  his  colleagues  in  the  Government,  and 
the  curious  sense,  never  absent  from  him  now,  that  Felsen- 
burgh's  approval  was  a  thing  to  die  for  if  necessary — 
these  things  had  finally  prevailed.  He  left  behind  him  at 
home  his  secretary,  with  instructions  that  no  expense  was 
to  be  spared  in  communicating  with  him  should  any  news 
of  his  wife  arrive  during  his  absence. 


330  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

It  was  terribly  hot  this  morning,  and,  by  the  time  that  he 
reached  the  top  he  noticed  that  the  monster  in  the  net  was 
already  fitted  into  its  white  aluminium  casing,  and  that  the 
fans  within  the  corridor  and  saloon  were  already  active. 
He  stepped  inside  to  secure  a  seat  in  the  saloon,  set  his 
bag  down,  and  after  a  word  or  two  with  the  guard,  who, 
of  course,  had  not  yet  been  informed  of  their  destination, 
learning  that  the  others  were  not  yet  come,  he  went  out 
again  on  to  the  platform  for  coolness'  sake,  and  to  brood  in 
peace. 

London  looked  strange  this  morning,  he  thought.  Here 
beneath  him  was  the  common,  parched  somewhat  with  the 
intense  heat  of  the  previous  week,  stretching  for  perhaps 
half-a-mile — tumbled  ground,  smooth  stretches  of  turf,  and 
the  heads  of  heavy  trees — up  to  the  first  house-roofs,  set, 
too,  it  seemed,  in  bowers  of  foliage.  Then  beyond  that  be- 
gan the  serried  array,  line  beyond  line,  broken  in  one  spot 
by  the  gleam  of  a  river-reach,  and  then  on  again  fading 
beyond  ej^esight.  But  what  surprised  him  was  the  density 
of  the  air;  it  was  now,  as  old  books  related  it  had  been  in 
the  days  of  smoke.  There  was  no  freshness,  no  translucence 
of  morning  atmosphere ;  it  was  impossible  to  point  in  any 
one  direction  to  the  source  of  this  veiling  gloom,  for  on 
all  sides  it  was  the  same.  Even  the  sky  overhead  lacked  its 
blue;  it  appeared  painted  with  a  muddy  brush,  and  the 
sun  shewed  the  same  faint  tinge  of  red.  Yes,  it  was  like 
that,  he  said  wearily  to  himself — like  a  second-rate  sketch ; 
there  was  no  sense  of  mystery  as  of  a  veiled  city,  but  rather 
unreality.  The  shadows  seemed  lacking  in  dcfiniteness,  the 
outlines  and  grouping  in  coherence.  A  storm  was  wanted, 
he  reflected;  or  even,  it  might  be,  one  more  earthquake  on 


THE  VICTORY  331 

the  other  side  of  the  world  would,  in  wonderful  illustra- 
tion of  the  globe's  unity,  relieve  the  pressure  on  this  side. 
Well,  well;  the  journey  would  be  worth  taking  even  for 
the  interest  of  observing  climatic  changes ;  but  it  would  be 
terribly  hot,  he  mused,  by  the  time  the  south  of  France 
was  reached. 

Then  his  thoughts  leaped  back  to  their  own  gnawing 
misery. 

It  was  another  ten  minutes  before  he  saw  the  scarlet  Gov- 
ernment motor,  with  awnings  out,  slide  up  the  road  from 
the  direction  of  Fulham ;  and  3'et  five  minutes  more  before 
the  three  men  appeared  with  their  servants  behind  them — 
IMaxwell,  Snowford  and  Cartwright,  all  alike,  as  was  Oliver, 
in  white  duck  from  head  to  foot. 

They  did  not  speak  one  word  of  their  business,  for  the 
officials  were  going  to  and  fro,  and  it  was  advisable 
to  guard  against  even  the  smallest  possibility  of  betraj'al. 
The  guard  had  been  told  that  the  volor  was  required  for 
a  three  days'  journej',  that  provisions  were  to  be  taken  in 
for  that  period,  and  that  the  first  point  towards  which 
the  course  was  to  lie  was  the  centre  of  the  South  Downs. 
There  would  be  no  stopping  for  at  least  a  day  and  a 
night. 

Further  instructions  had  reached  them  from  the  President 
on  the  previous  morning,  by  which  time  He  had  completed 
His  visitation,  and  received  the  assent  of  the  Emergency 
Councils  of  the  world.  This  Snowford  commented  upon  in 
an  undertone,  and  added  a  word  or  two  as  to  details,  as  the 
four  stood  together  looking  out  over  the  city. 

Eriefly,  the  plan  was  as  follows,  at  least  so  far  as  it  con- 


332  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

cerned  England.  The  volor  was  to  approach  Palestine 
from  the  direction  of  the  Mediterranean,  observing  to  get 
into  touch  with  France  on  her  left  and  Spain  on  her  right 
within  ten  miles  of  the  eastern  end  of  Crete.  The  approxi- 
mate hour  was  fixed  at  twenty -three  (eastern  time).  At 
this  point  she  was  to  show  her  night  signal,  a  scarlet  line 
on  a  white  field ;  and  in  the  event  of  her  failing  to  observe 
her  neighbours  was  to  circle  at  that  point,  at  a  height  of 
eight  hundred  feet,  until  either  the  two  were  sighted  or 
further  instructions  were  received.  For  the  purpose  of 
dealing  with  emergencies,  the  President's  car,  which  would 
finally  make  its  entrance  from  the  south,  was  to  be  accom- 
panied by  an  aide-de-camp  capable  of  moving  at  a  very 
high  speed,  whose  signals  were  to  be  taken  as  Felsenburgh's 
own. 

So  soon  as  the  circle  was  completed,  having  Esdraelon 
as  its  centre  with  a  radius  of  five  hundred  and  forty  miles, 
the  volors  were  to  advance,  dropping  gradually  to  within 
five  hundred  feet  of  sea-level,  and  diminisliing  their  dis- 
tance one  from  another  from  the  twenty-five  miles  or 
so  at  which  they  would  first  find  themselves,  until  they 
were  as  near  as  safety  allowed.  In  this  manner  the  ad- 
vance at  a  pace  of  fifty  miles  an  hour  from  the  moment 
that  the  circle  was  arranged  would  bring  them  wnthin 
sight  of  Nazareth  at  about  nine  o'clock  on  the  Sunday 
morning. 

The  guard  came  up  to  the  four  as  they  stood  there  silent. 
"We  are  ready,  gentlemen,"  he  said. 

"What  do  you  think  of  the  weather.?"  asked  Snowford 
abruptly. 


THE  VICTORY  333 

The  guard  pursed  his  lips. 
"A  little  thunder,  I  expect,  sir,"  he  said. 
Oliver  looked  at  him  curiousl}'. 
"No  more  than  that?"  he  asked. 

"I  should  say  a  storm,  sir,"  observed  the  guard  shortly. 
Snowford  turned  towards  the  gangway. 
"Well,  we  had  best  be  off:  we  can  lose  time  further  on, 
if  we  wish." 

It  was  about  five  minutes  more  before  all  was  ready.  From 
the  stern  of  the  boat  came  a  faint  smell  of  cooking,  for 
breakfast  would  be  served  immcdiatelj^,  and  a  white-capped 
cook  protruded  his  head  for  an  instant  to  question  the 
guard.  The  four  sat  down  in  the  gorgeous  saloon  in  the 
bows ;  Oliver  silent  by  himself,  the  other  three  talking  in 
low  voices  together.  Once  more  the  guard  passed  through 
to  his  compartment  at  the  prow,  glancing  as  he  went  to  see 
that  all  were  seated;  and  an  instant  later  came  the  clang 
of  the  signal.  Then  through  all  the  length  of  the  boat 
— for  she  was  the  fastest  ship  that  England  possessed — 
passed  the  thrill  of  the  propeller  beginning  to  work  up 
speed ;  and  simultaneously  Oliver,  staring  sideways  through 
the  plate-glass  window,  saw  the  rail  drop  away,  and  the 
long  line  of  London,  pale  beneath  the  tinged  sky,  surge 
up  suddenly.  He  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  little  group  of 
persons  staring  up  from  below,  and  they,  too,  dropped  in 
a  great  swirl,  and  vanished.  Then,  with  a  flash  of  dusty 
green,  the  Common  had  vanished,  and  a  pavement  of  house- 
roofs  began  to  stream  beneath,  the  long  lines  of  streets 
on  this  side  and  that  turning  like  spokes  of  a  gigantic 
wheel;  once  more  this  pavement  thinned,  showing  green 


834  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

again  as  between  infrequently  laid  cobble-stones ;  then  they, 
too,  were  gone,  and  the  country  was  open  beneath. 

Snowford  rose,  staggering  a  little. 

"I  may  as  well  tell  the  guard  now,"  he  said.  "Then  we 
need  not  be  interrupted  again." 


CHAPTER  VI 

I 

The  Syrian  awoke  from  a  dream  that  a  myriad  faces  were 
looking  into  his  own,  eager,  attentive  and  horrible,  in  his 
comer  of  the  roof-top,  and  sat  up  sweating  and  gasping 
aloud  for  breath.  For  an  instant  he  thought  that  he  was 
really  dying,  and  that  the  spiritual  world  was  about  him. 
Then,  as  he  struggled,  sense  came  back,  and  he  stood  up, 
drawing  long  breaths  of  the  stifling  night  air. 

Above  him  the  sky  was  as  the  pit,  black  and  empty ;  there 
was  not  a  glimmer  of  light,  though  the  moon  was  surely 
up.  He  had  seen  her  four  hours  before,  a  red  sickle,  swing 
slowly  out  from  Thabor.  Across  the  plain,  as  he  looked 
from  the  parapet,  there  was  nothing.  For  a  few  yards 
there  lay  across  the  broken  ground  a  single  crooked  lance 
of  light  from  a  half-closed  shutter;  and  beneath  that, 
nothing.  To  the  north  again,  nothing ;  to  the  west  a  glim- 
mer, pale  as  a  moth's  wing,  from  the  house-roofs  of  Naza- 
reth; to  the  east,  nothing.  He  might  be  on  a  tower-top 
in  space,  except  for  that  line  of  light  and  that  grey  glim- 
mer that  evaded  the  eye. 

On  the  roof,  however,  it  was  possible  to  make  out  at  least 
outlines,  for  the  dormer  trap  had  been  left  open  at  the 
head  of  the  stairs,  and  from  somewhere  within  the  depths 
of  the  house  there  stole  up  a  faint  refracted  light. 

There  was  a  white  bundle  in  that  corner;  that  would  be 
the  pillow  of  the  Benedictine  abbot.    He  had  seen  him  lay 


336  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

himself  down  there  some  time — was  it  four  hours  or  four 
centuries  ago?  There  was  a  grey  shape  stretched  along 
that  pale  wall — the  Friar,  he  thought ;  there  were  other 
irregular  outlines  breaking  the  face  of  the  parapet,  here 
and  there  along  the  sides. 

Very  softly,  for  he  knew  the  caprices  of  sleep,  he  stepped 
across  the  paved  roof  to  the  opposite  parapet  and  looked 
over,  for  there  yet  hung  about  him  a  desire  for  reassurance 
that  he  was  still  in  company  with  flesh  and  blood.  Yes, 
indeed  he  was  still  on  earth ;  for  there  was  a  real  and  dis- 
tinct light  burning  among  the  tumbled  rocks,  and  beside 
it,  delicate  as  a  miniature,  the  head  and  shoulders  of  a  man, 
writing.  And  in  the  circle  of  light  were  other  figures,  pale, 
broken  patches  on  which  men  lay ;  a  pole  or  two,  erected 
with  the  thought  of  a  tent  to  follow ;  a  little  pile  of  luggage 
with  a  rug  across  it ;  and  beyond  the  circle  other  outlines 
and  shapes  faded  away  into  the  stupendous  blackness. 

Then  the  writing  man  moved  his  head,  and  a  monstrous 
shadow  fled  across  the  ground;  a  yelp  as  of  a  strangling 
dog  broke  out  suddenly  close  behind  him,  and,  as  he  turned, 
a  moaning  figure  sat  up  on  the  roof,  sobbing  itself  awake. 
Another  moved  at  the  sound,  and  then  as,  sighing,  the 
former  relapsed  heavily  against  the  wall,  once  more  the 
priest  went  back  to  his  place,  still  doubtful  as  to  the 
reality  of  all  that  he  saw,  and  the  breathless  silence  came 
down  again  as  a  pall. 

He  woke  again  from  dreamless  sleep,  and  there  was  a 
change.  From  his  corner,  as  he  raised  his  heavy  eyes,  there 
met  them  what  seemed  an  unbearable  brightness ;  then,  as 
he  looked,  it  resolved  itself  into  a  candle-flame,  and  beyond 


THE  VICTORY  337 

it  a  white  sleeve,  and  higher  yet  a  white  face  and  throat. 
He  understood,  and  rose  reehng ;  it  was  the  messenger  come 
to  fetch  him  as  had  been  arranged. 

As  he  passed  across  the  space,  once  he  looked  round  him, 
and  it  seemed  that  the  dawn  must  have  come,  for  that  ap- 
palling sky  overhead  was  visible  at  last.  An  enormous 
vault,  smoke-coloured  and  opaque,  seemed  to  curve  away 
to  the  ghostly  horizons  on  either  side  where  the  far-away 
hills  raised  sharp  shapes  as  if  cut  in  paper.  Carmel  was 
before  him;  at  least  he  thought  it  was  that — a  bull  head 
and  shoulders  thrusting  itself  forward  and  ending  in  an 
abrupt  descent,  and  beyond  that  again  the  glimmering  sky. 
There  were  no  clouds,  no  outlines  to  break  the  huge, 
smooth,  dusky  dome  beneath  the  centre  of  which  this 
house-roof  seemed  poised.  Across  the  parapet,  as  he 
glanced  to  the  right  before  descending  the  steps,  stretched 
Esdraelon,  sad-coloured  and  sombre,  into  the  metallic  dis- 
tance. It  was  all  as  unreal  as  some  fantastic  picture  by 
one  who  had  never  looked  upon  clear  sunlight.  The  silence 
was  complete  and  profound. 

Straight  down  through  the  wheeling  shadows  he  went, 
following  the  white-hooded  head  and  figure  down  the 
stairs,  along  the  tiny  passage,  stumbling  once  against 
the  feet  of  one  who  slept  with  limbs  tossed  loose  like  a  tired 
dog;  the  feet  drew  back  mechanically,  and  a  little  moan 
broke  from  the  shadows.  Then  he  went  on,  passing  the 
servant  who  stood  aside,  and  entered. 

There  were  half-a-dozen  men  gathered  here,  silent,  white 
figures  standing  apart  one  from  the  other,  who  genuflected 
as  the  Pope  came  in  simultaneously  through  the  opposite 
door,  and  again  stood  white-faced  and  attentive.     He  ran 


3^6  LORD  OP  THE  WORLD 

his  eyes  over  them  as  he  stopped,  waiting  behind  his  master's 
chair  —  there  were  two  he  knew,  remembering  them  from 
last  night — dark-faced  Cardinal  Ruspoli,  and  the  lean  Aus- 
tralian Archbishop,  besides  Cardinal  Corkran,  who  stood 
by  his  chair  at  the  Pope's  own  tabic,  with  papers  laid 
ready. 

Silvester  sat  down,  and  with  a  little  gesture  caused  the 
others  to  sit  too.  Then  He  began  at  once  in  that  quiet 
tired  voice  that  his  servant  knew  so  well. 

"Eminences — we  are  all  here,  I  think.  We  need  lose  no 
more  time,  then.  .  .  .Cardinal Corkran  has  something  to  com- 
municate— "  He  turned  a  little.  "Father,  sit  down,  if 
you  please.     This  will  occupy  a  little  while." 

The  priest  went  across  to  the  stone  window-seat,  whence 
he  could  watch  the  Pope's  face  in  the  light  of  the  two 
candles  that  now  stood  on  the  table  between  him  and  the 
Cardinal-Secretary.  Then  the  Cardinal  began,  glancing 
up  from  his  papers. 

"Holiness.  I  had  better  begin  a  little  way  back.  Their 
Eminences  have  not  heard  the  details  properly.   .    .    . 

"I  received  at  Damascus,  on  last  Friday  week,  inquiries 
from  various  prelates  in  different  parts  of  the  world,  as 
to  the  actual  measure  concerning  the  new  policy  of  perse- 
cution. At  first  I  could  tell  them  nothing  positively,  for  it 
was  not  until  after  twenty  o'clock  that  Cardinal  Ruspoli, 
in  Turin,  informed  me  of  the  facts.  Cardinal  Malpas  con- 
firmed them  a  few  minutes  later,  and  the  Cardinal  Arch- 
bishop of  Pekin  at  twenty-three.  Before  mid-day  on 
Saturday  I  received  final  confirmation  from  my  messengers 
in  London. 

"I  was  at  first  surprised  that  Cardinal  Dolgorovski  did 


THE  VICTORY  339 

not  communicate  it;  for  almost  simultaneously  with  the 
Turin  message' I  received  one  from  a  priest  of  the  Order 
of  Christ  Crucified  in  Moscow,  to  which,  of  course,  I  paid 
no  attention.  (It  is  our  rule.  Eminences,  to  treat  unau- 
thorised communications  in  that  way.)  His  Holiness,  how- 
ever, bade  me  make  inquiries,  and  I  learned  from  Father 
Petrovoski  and  others  that  the  Government  placards  pub- 
lished the  news  at  twenty  o'clock — ^by  our  time.  It  was 
curious,  therefore,  that  the  Cardinal  had  not  seen  it ;  if  he 
had  seen  it,  it  was,  of  course,  his  duty  to  acquaint  me  imme- 
diately. 

"Since  that  time,  however,  the  following  facts  have  come 
out.  It  is  established  beyond  a  doubt  that  Cardinal  Dol- 
gorovski  received  a  visitor  in  the  course  of  the  evening. 
His  own  chaplain,  who,  your  Eminences  are  perhaps  aware, 
has  been  very  active  in  Russia  on  behalf  of  the  Church,  in- 
forms me  of  this  privately.  Yet  the  Cardinal  asserts,  in 
explanation  of  his  silence,  that  he  was  alone  during  those 
hours,  and  had  given  orders  that  no  one  was  to  be  admitted 
to  his  presence  without  urgent  cause.  This,  of  course,  con- 
firmed His  Holiness's  opinion,  but  I  received  orders  from 
Him  to  act  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  and  to  command 
the  Cardinal's  presence  here  with  the  rest  of  the  Sacred 
College.  To  this  I  received  an  intimation  that  he  would  be 
present.  Yesterday,  however,  a  little  before  mid-day,  I  re- 
ceived a  further  message  that  his  Eminency  had  met  with  a 
slight  accident,  but  that  he  yet  hoped  to  present  himself  in 
time  for  the  deliberations.  Since  then  no  further  news  has 
arrived." 

There  was  a  dead  silence. 

Then  the  Pope  turned  to  the  Syrian  priest. 


340  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

"Father,"  he  said,  "it  was  you  who  received  his  Eminency's 
messages.     Have  you  anything  to  add  to  this?" 

"No,  Holiness." 

He  turned  again. 

"My  son,"  he  said,  "report  to  Us  pubhcly  what  you  have 
already  reported  to  Us  in  private." 

A  small,  bright-eyed  man  moved  out  of  the  shadows. 

"Holiness,  it  was  I  who  conveyed  the  message  to  Cardinal 
Dolgorovski.  He  refused  at  first  to  receive  me.  When 
I  reached  his  presence  and  communicated  the  command  he 
was  silent ;  then  he  smiled ;  then  he  told  me  to  carry  back 
the  message  that  he  would  obey." 

Again  the  Pope  was  silent. 

Then  suddenly  the  tall  Australian  stood  up. 

"Holiness,"  he  said,  "I  was  once  intimate  with  that  man. 
It  was  partly  through  my  means  that  he  sought  reception 
into  the  Catholic  Church.  This  was  not  less  than  fourteen 
years  ago,  when  the  fortunes  of  the  Church  seemed  about 
to  prosper.  .  .  .  Our  friendly  relations  ceased  two  years 
ago,  and  I  may  say  that,  from  what  I  know  of  him,  I 
find  no  difficulty  in  believing " 

As  his  voice  shook  with  passion  and  he  faltered,  Silvester 
raised  his  hand. 

"We  desire  no  recriminations.  Even  the  evidence  is  now 
useless,  for  what  was  to  be  done  has  been  done.  For  our- 
selves, we  have  no  doubt  as  to  its  nature.  ...  It  was  to 
this  man  that  Christ  gave  the  morsel  through  our  hands, 
saying  Quod  facts,  fac  citius.  Cum  ergo  accepisset  ille 
buccellam,  exivit  continuo.    Erat  outem  nox.'* 

Again  fell  the  silence,  and  in  the  pause  sounded  a  long 
half -vocal  sigh  from  without  the  door.     It  came  and  went 


THE  VICTORY  341 

as  a  sleeper  turned,  for  the  passage  was  crowded  with  ex- 
hausted men — as  a  soul  might  sigh  that  passed  from  light 
to  darkness. 

Then  Silvester  spoke  again.  And  as  He  spoke  He  began, 
as  if  mechanically,  to  tear  up  a  long  paper,  written  with 
lists  of  names,  that  lay  before  Him. 

"Eminences,  it  is  three  hours  after  dawn.  In  two  hours 
more  We  shall  say  mass  in  your  presence,  and  give  Holy 
Communion.  During  those  two  hours  We  commission  you 
to  communicate  this  news  to  all  who  are  assembled  here ;  and 
further.  We  bestow  on  each  and  all  of  you  jurisdiction 
apart  from  all  previous  rules  of  time  and  place;  we  give 
a  Plenary  Indulgence  to  all  who  confess  and  communicate 
this  day.  Father — "  he  turned  to  the  Syrian — "Father, 
you  will  now  expose  the  Blessed  Sacrament  in  the  chapel, 
after  which  you  will  proceed  to  the  village  and  inform  the 
inhabitants  that  if  they  wish  to  save  their  lives  they  had 
best  be  gone  immediately — immediately,  you  understand." 

The  Syrian  started  from  his  daze. 

"Holiness,"  he  stammered,  stretching  out  a  hand,  "the 
lists,  the  lists !" 

(He  had  seen  what  these  were.) 

But  Silvester  only  smiled  as  He  tossed  the  fragments  on 
to  the  table.     Then  He  stood  up. 

"You  need  not  trouble,  my  son.  .  .  .  We  shall  not  need 
these  any  more.  .    .    . 

"One  last  word,  Eminences.  ...  If  there  is  one  heart 
here  that  doubts  or  is  afraid,  I  have  a  word  to  say," 

He  paused,  with  an  extraordinarily  simple  deliberateness, 
ran  the  eyes  round  the  tense  faces  turned  to  Him. 

"I  have  had  a  Vision  of  God,"  He  said  softly.  "I  walk  no 
more  by  faith,  but  by  sight." 


342  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 


II 


An  hour  later  the  priest  toiled  back  in  the  hot  twilight 
up  the  path  from  the  village,  followed  by  half-a-dozen 
silent  men,  twenty  yards  behind,  whose  curiosity  exceeded 
their  credulousness.  He  had  left  a  few  more  standing  be- 
wildered at  the  doors  of  the  little  mud-houses ;  and  had  seen 
perhaps  a  hundred  families,  weighted  with  domestic  arti- 
cles, pour  like  a  stream  down  the  rocky  path  that  led  to 
Khaifa,  He  had  been  cursed  by  some,  even  threatened; 
stared  upon  by  others ;  mocked  by  a  few.  The  fanatical 
said  that  the  Christians  had  brought  God's  wrath  upon  the 
place,  and  the  darkness  upon  the  sky:  the  sun  was  d^^ing, 
for  these  hounds  were  too  evil  for  him  to  look  upon  and 
live.  Others  again  seemed  to  see  nothing  remarkable  in  the 
state  of  the  weather.  .    .    . 

There  was  no  change  in  that  sky  from  its  state  an  hour 
before,  except  that  perhaps  it  had  lightened  a  little  as  the 
sun  climbed  higher  behind  that  impenetrable  dusky  shroud. 
Hills,  grass,  men's  faces — all  bore  to  the  priest's  eyes  the 
look  of  unreality ;  they  were  as  things  seen  in  a  dream 
by  eyes  that  roll  with  sleep  through  lids  weighted  with  lead. 
Even  to  other  physical  senses  that  unreality  was  present ; 
and  once  more  he  remembered  his  dream,  thankful  that  that 
horror  at  least  was  absent.  But  silence  seemed  other  than 
a  negation  of  sound,  it  was  a  thing  in  itself,  an  affirmation, 
unruffled  by  the  sound  of  footsteps,  the  thin  barking  of 
dogs,  the  murmur  of  voices.  It  appeared  as  if  the  still- 
ness of  eternity  had  descended  and  embraced  the  world's  ac- 
tivities, and  as  if  that  world,  in  a  desperate  attempt  to  as- 
sert its  own  reality,  was  braced  in  a  set,  motionless,  noise- 


THE  VICTORY  343 

less,  breathless  effort  to  hold  itself  in  being.  What  Sil- 
vester had  said  just  now  was  beginning  to  be  true  of  this 
man  also.  The  touch  of  the  powdery  soil  and  the  warm 
pebbles  beneath  the  priest's  bare  feet  seemed  something 
apart  from  the  consciousness  that  usually  regards  the 
things  of  sense  as  more  real  and  more  intimate  than  the 
things  of  spirit.  Matter  still  had  a  reality,  still  occupied 
space,  but  it  was  of  a  subjective  nature,  the  result  of  inter- 
nal rather  than  external  powers.  He  appeared  to  himself 
already  to  be  scarcely  more  than  a  soul,  intent  and  steady, 
united  by  a  thread  only  to  the  body  and  the  world  with 
which  he  was  yet  in  relations.  He  knew  that  the  appalling 
heat  was  there ;  once  even,  before  his  eyes  a  patch  of  beaten 
ground  cracked  and  lisped  as  water  that  touches  hot  iron, 
as  he  trod  upon  it.  He  could  feel  the  heat  upon  his  fore- 
head and  hands,  his  whole  body  was  swathed  and  soaked 
in  it ;  yet  he  regarded  it  as  from  an  outside  standpoint,  as 
a  man  with  neuritis  perceives  that  the  pain  is  no  longer 
in  his  hand  but  in  the  pillow  which  supports  it.  So,  too, 
with  what  his  eyes  looked  upon  and  his  ears  heard ;  so,  too, 
with  that  faint  bitter  taste  that  lay  upon  his  lips  and 
nostrils.  There  was  no  longer  in  him  fear  or  even  hope — 
he  regarded  himself,  the  world,  and  even  the  enshrouding 
and  awful  Presence  of  spirit  as  facts  with  which  he  had 
but  little  to  do.  He  was  scarcely  even  interested;  still  less 
was  he  distressed.  There  was  Thabor  before  him — at  least 
what  once  had  been  Thabor,  now  it  was  no  more  than  a 
huge  and  dusky  dome-shape  which  impressed  itself  upon  his 
retina  and  informed  his  passive  brain  of  its  existence  and 
outline,  though  that  existence  seemed  no  better  than  that 
of  a  dissolving  phantom. 


344  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

It  seemed  then  almost  natural — or  at  least  as  natural  as 
all  else — as  he  came  in  through  the  passage  and  opened  the 
chapel-door,  to  see  that  the  floor  was  crowded  with  pros- 
trate motionless  figures.  There  they  lay,  all  alike  in  the 
white  burnous  which  he  had  given  out  last  night ;  and,  with 
forehead  on  arms,  as  during  the  singing  of  the  Litany  of 
the  Saints  at  an  ordination,  lay  the  figure  he  knew  best 
and  loved  more  than  all  the  world,  the  shoulders  and  white 
hair  at  a  slight  elevation  upon  the  single  altar  step.  Above 
the  plain  altar  itself  burned  the  six  tall  candles ;  and  in 
the  midst,  on  the  mean  little  throne,  stood  the  white-metal 
monstrance,  with  its  White  Centre.  .   .   . 

Then  he,  too,  dropped,  and  lay  as  he  was.    .    .    . 

He  did  not  know  how  long  it  was  before  the  circling  ob- 
servant consciousness,  the  flow  of  slow  images,  the  vibra- 
tion of  particular  thoughts,  ceased  and  stilled  as  a  pool 
rocks  quietly  to  peace  after  the  dropped  stone  has  long 
lain  still.  But  it  came  at  last — that  superb  tranquillity, 
possible  only  when  the  senses  are  physically  awake,  with 
which  God,  perhaps  once  in  a  lifetime,  rewards  the  aspir- 
ing trustful  soul — that  point  of  complete  rest  in  the  heart 
of  the  Fount  of  all  existence  with  which  one  day  He  will 
reward  eternally  the  spirits  of  His  children.  There  was 
no  thought  in  him  of  articulating  this  experience,  of  analys- 
ing its  elements,  or  fingering  this  or  that  strain  of  ecstatic 
joy.  The  time  for  self -regarding  was  passed.  It  was 
enough  that  the  experience  was  there,  although  he  was  not 
even  self -reflective  enough  to  tell  himself  so.  He  had  passed 
from  that  circle  whence  the  soul  looks  within,  from  that 
circle,  too,  whence  it  looks  upon  objective  glory,  to  that 


THE  VICTORY  345 

very  centre  where  it  reposes — and  the  first  sign  to  him  that 
time  had  passed  was  the  murmur  of  words,  heard  distinctly 
and  understood,  although  with  that  apartness  with  which 
a  drowsy  man  perceives  a  message  from  without — heard 
as  through  a  veil  through  which  nothing  but  thinnest  es- 
sence could  transpire. 

Spiriius  Domini  replevit  orbem  terrarum.  .  .  .  The  Spirit 
of  the  Lord  hath  fulfilled  all  things,  alleluia:  and  that  which 
contains  all  things  hath  knowledge  of  the  voice,  alleluia, 
alleluia,  alleluia. 

Exsurgat  Deus  (and  the  voice  rose  ever  so  slightly). 
"Let  God  arise  and  let  His  enemies  he  scattered;  and  let 
them  who  hate  Him  flee  before  His  face." 

Gloria  Patri.   .    .    . 

Then  he  raised  his  heavy  head ;  and  a  phantom  figure 
stood  there  in  red  vestments,  seeming  to  float  rather  than 
to  stand,  with  thin  hands  outstretched,  and  white  cap  on 
white  hair  seen  in  the  gleam  of  the  steady  candle-flames ; 
another,  also  in  white,  kneeled  on  the  step.   .    .    , 

Kyrie  eleison  .  .  .  Gloria  in  excelsis  Deo  .  .  .  those 
things  passed  like  a  shadow-show,  with  movements  and 
rustlings,  but  he  perceived  rather  the  light  which  cast  them. 
He  heard  Deus  qui  in  hodierna  die  .  .  .  but  his  passive 
mind  gave  no  pulse  of  reflex  action,  no  stir  of  understand- 
ing until  these  words.  Cum  complerentur  dies  Pente- 
costes.  .   .   . 

"  When  the  day  of  Pentecost  was  fully  come,  all  the  disci- 
ples were  with  one  accord  in  the  same  place;  and  there  came 
from  heaven  suddenly  a  sound,  as  of  a  mighty  wind  ap- 
proaching, and  it  filed  the  house  where  they  were  sit- 
ting. ..." 


346  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

Then  he  remembered  and  understood.  ...  It  was  Pente- 
cost then !  And  with  memory  a  shred  of  reflection  came 
back.  Where  then  was  the  wind,  and  the  flame,  and  the 
earthquake,  and  the  secret  voice?  Yet  the  world  was  silent, 
rigid  in  its  last  eff^ort  at  self-assertion :  there  was  no  tremor 
to  show  that  God  remembered ;  no  actual  point  of  light,  yet, 
breaking  the  appalling  vault  of  gloom  that  lay  over  sea 
and  land  to  reveal  that  He  burned  there  in  eternity,  tran- 
scendent and  dominant;  not  even  a  voice;  and  at  that  he 
understood  yet  more.  He  perceived  that  that  world,  whose 
monstrous  parody  his  sleep  had  presented  to  him  in  the 
night,  was  other  than  that  he  had  feared  it  to  be;  it  was 
sweet,  not  terrible ;  friendly,  not  hostile ;  clear,  not  stifling ; 
and  home,  not  exile.  There  were  presences  here,  but  not 
those  gluttonous,  lustful  things  that  had  looked  on  him 
last  night.  .  .  .  He  dropped  his  head  again  upon  his 
hands,  at  once  ashamed  and  content ;  and  again  he  sank 
down  to  depths  of  glimmering  inner  peace.  .   .   . 

Not  again,  for  a  while,  did  he  perceive  what  he  did  or 
thought,  or  what  passed  there,  five  yards  away  on  the  low 
step.  Once  only  a  ripple  passed  across  that  sea  of  glass, 
a  ripple  of  fire  and  sound  like  a  rising  star  that  flicks  a 
line  of  light  across  a  sleeping  lake,  like  a  thin  thread  of 
vibration  streaming  from  a  quivering  string  across  the 
stillness  of  a  deep  night — and  he  perceived  for  an  instant 
as  in  a  formless  mirror  that  a  lower  nature  was  struck  into 
existence  and  into  union  with  the  Divine  nature  at  the  same 
moment.  .  .  .  And  then  no  more  again  but  the  great  en- 
compassing hush,  the  sense  of  the  innermost  heart  of  real- 
ity, till  he  found  himself  kneeling  at  the  rail,  and  knew 


THE  VICTORY  347 

that  That  which  alone  truly  existed  on  earth  approached 
him  with  the  swiftness  of  thought  and  the  ardour  of  Divine 
Love.  .    .    . 

Then,  as  the  mass  ended,  and  he  raised  his  passive  happy 
soul  to  receive  the  last  gift  of  God,  there  was  a  cry,  a 
sudden  clamour  in  the  passage,  and  a  man  stood  in  the 
doorway,  gabbling  Arabic. 


Ill 

Yet  even  at  that  sound  and  sight  his  soul  scarcely  tight- 
ened the  languid  threads  that  united  it  through  every  fibre 
of  his  body  with  the  world  of  sense.  He  saw  and  heard  the 
tumult  in  the  passage,  frantic  eyes  and  mouths  crying  aloud, 
and,  in  strange  contrast,  the  pale  ecstatic  faces  of  those 
princes  who  turned  and  looked;  even  within  the  tranquil 
presence-chamber  of  the  spirit  where  two  beings.  Incarnate 
God  and  all  but  Discarnate  Man,  were  locked  in  embrace, 
a  certain  mental  process  went  on.  Yet  all  was  still  as  apart 
from  him  as  a  lighted  stage  and  its  drama  from  a  self- 
contained  spectator.  In  the  material  world,  now  as  atten- 
uated as  a  mirage,  events  were  at  hand ;  but  to  his  soul,  bal- 
anced now  on  reality  and  awake  to  facts,  these  things  were 
but  a  spectacle.  .   .    . 

He  turned  to  the  altar  again,  and  there,  as  he  had  known 
it  would  be,  in  the  midst  of  clear  light,  all  was  at  peace: 
the  celebrant,  seen  as  through  molten  glass,  adored  as  He 
murmured  the  mystery  of  the  Word-made-Flesh,  and  once 
more  passing  to  the  centre,  sank  upon  His  knees. 


348  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

Again  the  priest  understood ;  for  thought  was  no  longer 
the  process  of  a  mind,  rather  it  was  the  glance  of  a  spirit. 
He  knew  all  now ;  and,  by  an  inevitable  impulse,  his  throat 
began  to  sing  aloud  words  that,  as  he  sang,  opened  for  the 
first  time  as  flowers  telling  their  secret  to  the  sun. 

0  Salutaris  Hostia 

Qui  coeli  pandis  ostium.   .    .    . 

They  were  all  singing  now;  even  the  Mohammedan 
catechumen  who  had  burst  in  a  moment  ago  sang  with  the 
rest,  his  lean  head  thrust  out  and  his  arms  tight  across  his 
breast ;  the  tiny  chapel  rang  with  the  forty  voices,  and  the 
vast  world  thrilled  to  hear  it.  .   .   . 

Still  singing,  the  priest  saw  the  veil  laid  as  by  a  phantom 
upon  the  Pontiff's  shoulders ;  there  was  a  movement,  a 
surge  of  figures — shadows  only  in  the  midst  of  substance, 

.    .    .    Uni  Trinoque  Domino.    .    .    . 

— and  the  Pope  stood  erect,  Himself  a  pallor  in  the  heart 
of  light,  with  spectral  folds  of  silk  dripping  from  His 
shoulders.  His  hands  swathed  in  them,  and  His  down-bent 
head  hidden  by  the  silver-rayed  monstrance  and  That  which 
it  bore.  .    .    . 

.    .    .  Qui  vitam  sine  termino 

Nobis  donet  in  patria.  .   .   . 

.  .  .  They  were  moving  now,  and  the  world  of  life  swung 
with  them ;  of  so  much  was  he  aware.  He  was  out  in  the 
passage,  among  the  white,  frenzied  faces  that  with  bared 


THE  VICTORY  349 

teeth  stared  up  at  that  sight,  silenced  at  last  by  the  thun- 
der of  Pange  Lingua,  and  the  radiance  of  those  who  passed 
out  to  eternal  life.  ...  At  the  corner  he  turned  for  an 
instant  to  see  the  six  pale  flames  move  along  a  dozen  yards 
behind,  as  spear-heads  about  a  King,  and  in  the  midst  the 
silver  rays  and  the  White  Heart  of  God.  .  .  .  Then  he 
was  out,  and  the  battle  lay  in  array.   ... 

That  sky  on  which  he  had  looked  an  hour  ago  had  passed 
from  darkness  charged  with  light  to  light  overlaid  with 
darkness — from  glimmering  night  to  Wrathful  Day — and 
that  light  was  red.   .    .    . 

From  behind  Thabor  on  the  left  to  Carmel  on  the  far 
right,  above  the  hills  twenty  miles  away  rested  an  enor- 
mous vault  of  colour;  here  were  no  gradations  from  zenith 
to  horizon ;  all  was  the  one  deep  smoulder  of  crimson  as 
of  the  glow  of  iron.  It  was  such  a  colour  as  men  have  seen 
at  sunsets  after  rain,  while  the  clouds,  more  translucent 
each  instant,  transmit  the  glory  they  cannot  contain. 
Here,  too,  was  the  sun,  pale  as  the  Host,  set  like  a  fragile 
wafer  above  the  Mount  of  Transfiguration,  and  there,  far 
down  in  the  west  where  men  had  once  cried  upon  Baal  in 
vain,  hung  the  sickle  of  the  white  moon.  Yet  all  was  no 
more  than  stained  light  that  lies  broken  across  carven  work 
of  stone.  .   .   . 

.    .    .   In  swprema  node  coena, 

sang  the  myriad  voices, 

Recumhens  cum  fratribus 
Observata  lege  'plena 


350  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

Cibis  in  legalibus 
Cibum  turhae  duodenae 
Se  dat  suis  manihus.  .    .    . 

He  saw,  too,  poised  as  motes  in  light,  that  ring  of  strange 
fish-creatures,  white  as  milk,  except  where  the  angry  glory 
turned  their  backs  to  flame,  white-winged  like  floating 
moths,  from  the  tjny  shape  far  to  the  south  to  the  monster 
at  hand  scarcely  five  hundred  yards  away ;  and  even  as  he 
looked,  singing  as  he  looked,  he  understood  that  the  circle 
was  nearer,  and  perceived  that  these  as  yet  knew  noth- 
ing  

.    .    .    Verbum  caro,  panem  verum 
Verbo  carnem  efficit.    .    .    . 

.  .  .  They  were  nearer  still,  until  now  even  at  his  feet 
there  slid  along  the  ground  the  shadow  of  a  monstrous 
bird,  pale  and  undefined,  as  between  the  wan  sun  and  him- 
self moved  out  the  vast  shape  that  a  moment  ago  hung 
above  the  Hill.  .  .  .  Then  again  it  backed  across  and 
waited.  .    .   . 

.    .    .    Et  si  sensus  deficit 

Ad  formandum  cor  sincerutn 
Sola  -fides  sufficit.  .   .   . 

.  .  .  He  had  halted  and  turned,  going  in  the  midst  of 
his  fellows,  hearing,  he  thought,  the  thrill  of  harping  and 
the  throb  of  heavenly  drums ;  and,  across  the  space,  moved 
now  the  six  flames,  steady  as  if  cut  of  steel  in  that  stupen- 
dous poise  of  heaven  and  earth ;  and  in  their  centre  the  sil- 
ver-rayed glory  and  the  Whiteness  of  God  made  Man.  .   .  . 


THE  VICTORY  351 

.  .  .  Then,  with  a  roar,  came  the  thunder  again,  pealing 
in  circle  beyond  circle  of  those  tremendous  Presences — 
Thrones  and  Powers — who,  themselves  to  the  world  as  sub- 
stance to  shadow,  are  but  shadows  again  beneath  the  apex 
and  within  the  ring  of  Absolute  Deity.  .  .  .  The  thunder 
broke  loose,  shaking  the  earth  that  now  cringed  on  the  quiv- 
ering edge  of  dissolution.  .   .   . 

Tantum  ergo  sacramentum 
Veneremur  Cernui 

Et    ANTiaUUM    DOCUMENTUM 

Novo  Cedat  Ritui.  .   .   . 

Ah !  yes ;  it  was  He  for  whom  God  waited  now — He  who 
far  up  beneath  that  trembling  shadow  of  a  dome,  itself 
but  the  piteous  core  of  unimagined  splendour,  came  in  His 
swift  chariot,  blind  to  all  save  that  on  which  He  had  fixed 
His  eyes  so  long,  unaware  that  His  world  corrupted  about 
Him,  His  shadow  moving  like  a  pale  cloud  across  the 
ghostly  plain  where  Israel  had  fought  and  Sennacherib 
boasted — that  plain  lighted  now  with  a  yet  deeper  glow, 
as  heaven,  kindling  to  glory  beyond  glory  of  yet  fiercer 
spiritual  flame,  still  restrained  the  power  knit  at  last  to 
the  relief  of  final  revelation,  and  for  the  last  time  the 
voices  sang.  ... 

Praestet  Fides  supplementum 
Sensuum  defectui.   .    .    . 

.  .  .  He  was  coming  now,  swifter  than  ever,  the  heir  of 
temporal  ages  and  the  Exile  of  eternity,  the  final  piteous 
Prince  of  rebels,  the  creature  against  God,  blinder  than  the 


352  LORD  OF  THE  WORLD 

sun  which  paled  and  the  earth  that  shook ;  and,  as  He  came, 
passing  even  then  through  the  last  material  stage  to  the 
thinness  of  a  spirit-fabric,  the  floating  circle  swirled  behind 
Him,  tossing  like  phantom  birds  in  the  wake  of  a  phantom 
ship,  .  ,  .  He  was  coming,  and  the  earth,  rent  once  again 
in  its  allegiance,  shrank  and  reeled  in  the  agony  of  divided 
homage.  .    .    . 

,  .  .  He  was  coming — and  alread}'  the  shadow  swept  off 
the  plain  and  vanished,  and  the  pale  netted  wrings  were  ris- 
ing to  the  check ;  and  the  great  bell  clanged,  and  the  long 
sweet  chord  rang  out — not  more  than  wliispers  heard  across 
the  pealing  storm  of  everlasting  praise.  .    .    . 

.    .    .    Genitori  genitoque 
Laus  et  jubilatio 
Sal,us  honor  virtus  auoftu 
Sit  et  benedictio 

PrOCEDENTI    AB    UTROftUE 
COMPAR    SIT    LAUDATIO.    .     .     . 

and  once  more 

PROCEDENTI  AB  UTROQUE 
COMPAR  SIT  LAUDATIO.  .  .  . 

Then  this  world  passed,  and  the  glory  of  it. 

THE    END 


i 


823,91  B475L  561343 

Lord  of  the  world. 


823.91  B475L  igei™ 


